The Bloodmoon Rises
by Fulminanz
Summary: Voldemort not only sent his Death Eaters to the Ministry, but vampires as well. Hermione and Harry fall to them and find themselves in new, undead lives. While Harry struggles to remain human, Hermione becomes what was believed dead long ago. She becomes a Countess, an heir to Dracula. Unfortunately, there are no books on that. /Abandoned
1. Chapter 1

**1996**

Hermione had always thought that being bitten by a vampire would inflict unbelievable pain onto the victim. She had thought that the penetration of ones skin by the sharp fangs would probably be horrifying. She had suspected that by the time the vampire began to suck blood one would fight it and she had been pretty sure that people would stop struggling when the bloodloss got to them, not a second sooner.

The single most horrifying moment had been the second the dark creature had laid eyes on her.

You didn't fight it, it just happened too fast. By the time the bloodloss got you paralyzed all you were able to do was to damn fate and relive the mistakes that had brought you into this situation.

They were on a rescue mission for Sirius Black, Harry's godfather, and got lost somewhere in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries. Their group of students who had deemed themselves trained enough to fight whatever held Sirius in the Department were split up at the first inconvenience. Ron and Ginny fled in the opposite direction while Luna and Neville had taken to some room for safety. She had been the one who stuck to Harry to protect him and stand beside him when they would eventually face the consequences of their stupidity.

Right now he stared blankly back at her, his eyes covered in some milky shine, sometimes blinking. His body twitched from time to time by itself and when the two vampires changed the spot from where they sucked his blood.

Vampires were incredibly lavish, Hermione thought while the vampire that punctured her own body let out a shout of pure joy. Everywhere was blood. It covered their skin, their clothes and the floor around them. Hermione knew she should be afraid, terrified, but she just wondered if they would store the blood they missed somehow. It seemed like an awful waste to her.

She would die tonight, she was sure of it. There was something in the absolute certainty of death that calmed her. She would die, Harry would die and the others that were with them would probably die as well. Right now, she felt no pain and no sadness at that fact. She wondered if dying was like this for all people. Being pinned down and sucked dry by a vampire was arguably one of the worst deaths to be had, and yet is was in a way – peaceful. Was death peaceful? Hermione certainly hoped so.

Her eyelids became incredibly heavy and keeping them open became a struggle. She still looked at Harry and his unmoving form. His eyes were closed now. He looked so content in his death. She herself didn't want to close her eyes as she felt unready for that threshold. Closing her eyes would mean that she'd have to take her eyes off the boy she had risked her life for. Harry had been her best friend and his still form kept the horrors around her away.

Darkness enclosed her when her lids finally shut close. The fangs and teeth of the vampires still penetrated her body and without her sight to distract her, she felt the painful intrusion, the wildly moving tongues on her body and she heard the sucking noises as more and more of the red life fluid left her body. One of the long fangs hit a bone and a piercing pain shot through her. It made her body twitch and her eyes flutter open for a second before her entire body fell back into numbness. There wasn't enough blood left for her nerves to work properly. Her breathing became shallow, her heart slow in his works. Single loud pumps sounded through her body like goodbyes to Hermione. It felt weird when the heart pumped a last time and one knew that it was over. Hermione died and she was glad is was a peaceful death.

***Countess***

Two throats, two bellies full of blood. Claws ripping them open. Teeth biting deep into strange tissue. The warmth of blood and the squishy texture of raw meat. More of it! A second throat so easily caught, its owner so ridiculously slow. A powerful bite and bones broke, the neck was through. More blood and more meat. A taste of foul ash, but wonderful and exciting to chew. Every swallow so very satisfying and the way it reached the stomach, so very exhilarating. More of it! More!

A room without scent, but the traces of souls all around. Someone else was in here but his presence was soothing and known. A companion. The scent of blood once more, behind an open door. Dozens of throats, the smell of spell-fire and more known presences. Running over the dark floor, towards the blood and meat. Jumping, onto an archway and again. A woman - black hair, a wand pointed, green spell-fire about to erupt. Claws tearing apart the arm with the wand, a bite at the black haired woman. The woman moved too fast, screaming in agony. A melody in the ears, a harmony of the hunt and anthem to the hunter.

Running along the trail of blood. Dodging spell-fire and ignoring the numerous healthy people with blood racing through their veins filled with exciting smells of adrenaline, fear and hatred. The trail becomes thicker and the hunt faster. The woman runs to an elevator and goes upwards. Jumping into the elevator shaft and climbing up the crude wall behind. A shout of anger by the companion – ignorable and feeble. The elevator stops. Breaking through the thin metal of its floor, biting through the copper and steel. Strong teeth cut through it like butter, the fangs rip it apart like a shredder. The trail continues. The woman lays on the floor, crawling towards the chimneys. How good she looks, how appetizing her blood smells. A jump onto her and a fluid move to bite the protective hand held up. Fresh, warm blood, filled with fear, exhaustion, adrenaline and rage. Gulping down the liquid while swatting at the woman under. She screams and shouts – struggles wildly with her last strength. More pressure onto the teeth, the hand is through. Bone crushes, splinters tears wounds in the mouth. The flesh of it tastes so incredible. Chewy and tasting like extraordinarily well bred cattle. No fat disturbs the perfect texture of trained muscle, no sugar the warm liquid that flows through it and adds spice to the perfection. Shouts and screams of agony tip off the meal and there came a shout of glee and joy, so familiar.

An elevator coming. The companion back. He shouts. Dragged off the woman that still screams in pain. She gets stunned and bound. A wand pointed. White spell-fire erupting. Darkness all over.

***Countess***

 **1996**

"What to do with her now? We can't...! I mean... we can't, can we?... You know?"

"Bringing her... both of them back to Hogwarts... I don't know. It could work. It could go horribly wrong."

Hermione's mind was as numb as she had last felt it when she had been petrified by the basilisk in her second yea. She heard the voices around her and just vaguely realized who was standing around her. She recognized Nymphadora Tonk's voice as the first, Remus Lupin's as the second.

Her head hurt like crazy, she had a coppery taste in her mouth and if she guessed correctly, the entirety of her body was wrapped in bandages and linen. To boot it all off, she couldn't open her eyes, even if she tried. The best she could do was to open them a slit after which they immediately shut again. Around her was a disturbing amount of white and without the voices around her, she would've guessed that she'd be dead.

"Could work? Are you completely out of your mind? I won't let my children go back there when that... beast... is there. Have you seen what she did with Lestrange?"

Hermione recognized Molly Weasley's voice, even though it was disturbingly skewed by her venomous words.

"I've seen it and for Merlin's sake, Molly, don't call her a beast! It's still Hermione we're talking about here!" Lupin answered angrily.

"Don't fool yourself Remus. That isn't Hermione, anymore. I don't even know why we're waiting for her to wake up. Those restraints won't holds her off for long after what she did to that metal-made elevator." Molly retorted.

Hermione checked and there truly were restraint around her body. By the sound of them, chains ended off with leather to be easy on her ankles. She was confused. Why did they feel the need to bind her like that and now that she thought of it, did Molly Weasley just call her a beast? What was that woman's problem?

"She's waking up, the chains rustled. Make sure they're properly attached to the floor and wall. And no matter what you do, don't cut yourself anywhere. We really don't need to have her smell blood uncontrolled."

Around Hermione busy people started murmuring spells, wands swished through the air and her restraints became straightened out until her arms and legs spread out far over the bed she was lying on. She didn't understand which spells were used, some of them she had never even heard of, those she recognized got lost in the throbbing pain of her head.

The rustling and shuffling went on and people gave each other hurried orders over her head. It was loud and busy and it made the pain in her head grow heavier and more pronounced. She moaned a bit and tried to open her eyes, but had no luck other than to be blinded mercilessly by the light in the room. She tried to ask them to be silent, but all that came out was a low growl. The chains were taut strictly and even the leather made her ankles and wrists hurt. She wanted to ask them to loosen her restraint a bit. The growl that escaped her this time sounded angry.

Someone held a cup of something to her nose. It smelled absolutely amazing, as if chocolate partnered up with mown grass to create a breathtaking motive. When it left her nostrils she followed it it eagerly to get just one more smell of it before it left her in the cold. But to her delight, whoever held the cup moved it to her lips. She happily opened her mouth and let the liquid flow around her tongue. Its taste wasn't what she had expected. It was coppery and tasted awfully bland. It had a bit of stale water combined with an old, leathery orange and an overly ripe apple. Hermione frowned at the taste and was about to spit it out before she remembered her manners and swallowed the obnoxious liquid. She wanted to push the cup out of her mouth with her tongue, but it was just eagerly pressed back and somehow made Hermione swallow even more of the liquid.

With a wave of rage her eyes shot open and in the same move she opened her mouth wide and slammed her jaw shut, crushing the porcelain of the cup in her mouth.

"Bloody hell!" shouted the voice of Sirius Black, but Hermione wasn't able to see him at first. Her vision was somewhat clouded, but at the same time clearer as it ever was. The sound of crying and tears came at her ears and she immediately turned her head towards the source. Somewhere in her head she reached a wall. She knew that hearing and seeing her mother cry should make her sad, or in this case, exceedingly worried. However, all it did was to make her unbelievably... hungry.

"Alright. Old blood didn't do it, it seems. Who volunteers?" asked Remus Lupin in his typical voice that was always so heavy and somewhat resigned.

"I'll do it." came the strong voice of Hermione's father, directly from behind her mother.

"Then hold out your arm over her mouth and make sure to let it drop into her mouth after I made the cut. Not more than half a liter. Enough so that she'll clear up on us. Understood?"

"Yes, I got it."

Like a faint blur she saw her father stretch out his arms over her head and a small spell hitting his lower arm. The smell made her fight against her chains as she wanted – needed to get closer to her fathers arm. She wanted to lick it, bite it, rip it off and eat the remains. She growled angrily at her father and looked longingly at the small stream of red that went down the blurred outlines as the only sharp things she could see. The smell of grass and chocolate was back and when that first drop hit her tongue, she felt like heaven itself had descended upon her. The aromas increased in intensity, with more nuances and a fascinating play of spices. Fear, sadness, confusion and the familiar scent of home played in crescendo until it exploded in her throat in a sensation of sweet terror.

Her father let drop after drop pour into her until it became a small stream of blood. She eagerly drank everything with gusto, never daring to close her mouth, so afraid was she that one drop could be left on her face instead of wandering into her stomach. He did so for ten minutes. During that time her vision became more clear and outlines formed together to sharp silhouettes of people standing around her bed. Wait... was she just drinking her father's...?

Disgusted by the sheer thought she spit out the red liquid in her mouth and tried to cough out the rest of it. "By Merlin, why would you make me drink that! What the hell? What is wrong with you?!" she shouted in between spitting out the blood in her mouth. When she was sure that all that was left was the taste she tried to sit up, but the chains held her back. She looked at her father, demanding an answer. "What... What is going on?"

Her father took a knee next to her and looked into her eyes as if he tried to analyze something. His eyes had deep, black rings under them and his face looked years older than last time. "How much do you remember?"

"We... we were at the Ministry and... and then... then..." It dawned just slowly on her. Being held down in bed, the tastes and smells all around her had made her forget. But image by image the night in the Ministry came back to her. She saw the empty hallways and remembered the bad feeling she got when entering. A feeling she had ignored. The contact with the Death Eater, the splitting up and then him, lying there, dying.

"Where is Harry? Where... Where is he? Is he alive? Harry!" She stammered at her father who laid a flat hand at her chest and cooed in her ears to calm her down. "He is as... alive as you are. What else do you remember?"

"He was lying there, dying and I was right next to him. I died too. I died because..." She stopped as the words she was about to speak broke down a wall of realization. The blood, the taste of it so wonderful. Harry lying there because of the vampires that had caught them. "Oh, no!"

Hermione started to cry but she couldn't feel any tears falling from her face. She breathed, but every time she sucked in air it felt unnatural to her and her throat shut tight. She couldn't breathe and it made her panic. She rapidly sucked in one little breath, again and again but never did the air come into her lungs. She felt like she had a cork in her throat and she needed to get it out. A loud Bang rang through the room as she broke the chains around her left arm. Another when she broke those around her right arm. She held her throat and tried to breathe, she felt like she was drowning when arms went around her lovingly and the voice of her mother calmed her down with silent words she couldn't understand.

"Mrs. Granger! Go away!" Remus Lupin shouted.

Her mothers lips left the proximity of her ears and she spoke with shaking voice but determined. "I will do no such thing. She is my daughter! She won't hurt me!"

"She. Is. A. Vampire!" he shouted at her "And she will hurt you."

"A vampire?" Hermione asked and her voice was thick with a confused tone that just covered the desperation in her. She had suspected it, but found the mere thought too terrifying to ever let close to her and prevented it to be real in her head. Now brutal honesty was delivered in the form of Remus Lupin. She lifted her hands and moved them towards her mouth. One finger went in and stopped immediately when it went over the long and sharp fang on the right side of her mouth. She felt for all four of them, the two big ones in the top row and the two smaller ones in the lower row.

"Harry?" she asked nobody in particular.

"Is a vampire as well. Although he..." Remus almost faltered under the gaze of Hermione who just tried to encourage the werewolf to continue.

"Although, he what?" she pressed on.

Instead of Lupin, Sirius answered. "Although, he doesn't eat his prey as well. You're... Hermione, see... uhm... You turned incredibly fast, as did Harry. But other than him, you went on a rampage immediately after that. Do you remember anything about that?"

"No. No...I just remember being... hun...hun... hun..." she wasn't able to say it out loud. She remembered being hungry like never before, but saying it would make it too real. She had killed in the Ministry and she had eaten what she had killed.

"Hungry?" offered Lupin. She just nodded and sunk her head in her mothers hair. It felt so soft and her embrace was so calming. It made her feel safe from whatever would hurt her, like a true mothers hug should. Hermione could smell the old sweat in her clothes and she felt the tremble in her body. She was afraid and her blood smelled like...

With a panicked toss she sent her mother flying through the room until she hit another bed. She had smelt her blood, felt it running through her veins and the thought of taking a bite went through her head. It took a while until she realized that she instead had flung her like a football. "I'm, so sorry" she immediately said. "I... I could smell it and... and I didn't want to bite you. Mum! Please! I'm sorry."

"Its alright, shes not hurt." said Tonks who had hurried to the muggle woman. "But lets not do that again, ok Hermione?"

Hermione just nodded as an answer, too shocked of her own power to do anything else.

"Calm down, Hermione. Your mother is fine. Calm down! Think!" her father ordered her. 'Think' she repeated in her head and suddenly the fog in her head, the panic, cleared out. 'Think' she repeated once more. She dismissed the horrible pictures in her head and pressed them in the back to wait for their evaluation. She had to do this like her research. She had to do the math. She needed facts. Fact was that she was obviously a vampire. Now there's something for an essay title. Fact number two was that she just got fed and felt no hunger. Fact three was that she still imagined ripping out some throats whenever she smelled the blood running through the veins of the people around her. 'What else?' she asked herself and imagined that she didn't just scrape past another panic attack because of her thoughts. The teeth were one physical reaction of her body. Were there more?

"Could I have a mirror?" she asked quietly.

There was no reaction at first as nobody seemed to have expected her to ask something like this. But then a giant mirror was conjured before her by the wand of one Albus Dumbledore who just walked into the room, the twinkle in his eyes dangerously absent. "I'd like to be left alone with Miss Granger. Mr. and Mrs. Granger, I ask you to leave too, just for the moment."

The look on Hermiones father made it obvious that he had met Dumbledore before and knew exactly that this wasn't a request. No, Dumbledore had just stated an order to the room, and the people obliged instantly.

Hermione didn't watch the crowd leave the room and just focused on the... creature that was before her in the mirror. At first it looked like her, alright. The first glance revealed a slightly paler, slightly more beautiful Hermione Granger to the world. But then she saw her eyes and Hermione knew that she was no longer human. She stared at herself with black eyes that had an red iris in them. It made her look like a predator - a wild beast. She opened her mouth and it revealed the sharp fangs, completing the predator look.

She shook her head at the thought that she did look much better, if one would ignore the eyes. Her features were sharper, her lips fuller and as far as she could see her body had made significant improvements. Gone was the little belly and the slightly misshaped hips. She was now easily on par with Cho Chang, Daphne Greengrass and all the other amazing looking girl in Hogwarts. However, the prize she paid for this beauty stared back at her whenever she looked straight at the mirror. Black eyes with red iris, promising a quick death to all that met them. They were even more menacing than the pair of eyes she had seen at the Ministry. Those had been golden, with white around the iris. Compared to her own, those seemed nearly inviting now. Now she understood why Remus faltered under her gaze. Nobody with the slightest remain of survival instinct would even come near her now.

"A sight to behold, isn't it, Mrs. Granger."

"I look like a monster... I am a monster." she spat back.

"You are indeed. A dark creature, a creature of the night, hunting for blood and in your case also the flesh of innocents." Dumbledore answered. His bland tone revealed no ill-mannered joke, or sarcasm. He meant what he said, she thought. "I have heard what Mr. Lupin said before but I have to be perfectly clear here. There is no place for you at Hogwarts."

The only thing that shocked her was the absence of shock. Of course she would be expelled. She had known since realization had dawned on her. However, the small spark of hope left in her hurt quite a bit when it flashed out of existence. "So, Harry and me are going... where?"

"Do not misunderstand. Mr. Potter is welcome at Hogwarts with a few conditions. It is you I cannot allow within these walls."

"But...why? Isn't he also a vampire? Isn't he like me? Whatever his conditions are I..."

"No, you can't." he interrupted her with his dangerous, quiet voice. "You are not like him. You, Mrs. Granger are what the vampires call an Eater. You are dangerous and uncontrollable. Not even you can control yourself once hunger strikes." Dumbledore sat down on a bed next to hers and sighed in exhaustion.

"Whats happening to me?" Hermione begged. It was all so confusing and terrifying. She didn't want to drink blood, let alone eat people.

"I have contacted the Aurors. See, Mrs Granger, just as Hogwarts has no place for you, there is no place for you in this world. You must understand..."

"You'll kill me?!" she shouted. At the words of the headmaster, something in her snapped. She growled angrily, a sound she didn't make consciously, and her face twisted into a murderous grimace. She felt the muscles around her jaw tense up, as if she was about to bite something with all her power. When she spoke, her voice was deeper, menacing and with a growl in the background. "You'll kill me? Just like that? Do my parents even know?!"

"Your parents probably already forgot your existence." he said as if he'd discuss the weather.

"WHAT?!" she screamed. It took herself by surprise how feral it sounded. But then again, the only wish that was prominent in her head was to rip the old man before her to pieces and devour him. It was more than rage that fueled her fury. A hatred so deep she didn't even know it was possible streamed through her mind, consuming her weaker emotions like a tsunami devoured coasts. The silhouettes around her blurred again and left was a target, a throat.

With one movement she jumped at the old man that sat there as if he was invincible. The chains around her legs downright exploded when she ripped them off and the deformed metal flew through the room. She felt several layers of magic shatter when she jumped at him. His surprised gaze at the ineffectiveness of the wards around her bed made him all the more delicious to look at.

Her hands formed claws, long and sharp and she lashed out for his chest. Deep cuts rand through his abdomen and thick, dark blood streamed through the white beard of the old wizard.

A blast of his wand sent her flying through the room and when she landed she saw several more wands directed at her. Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Severus Snape, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Alastor Moody pointed their wands at her and waited for orders – or that she would make a move.

Hermione realized her stance, but left it like it was since she got there by instinct. She was on all four, like a lioness ready to jump. She felt her ankles, knees and shoulders tense up and produce energy to explode in one deadly movement. But there was no one she could jump onto without risking being taken by the others.

The steady stream of blood from Dumbledore's chest made her senses go haywire and Hermione repeated constantly that she had to think. It would be so very satisfying to sink her fangs into the old wizards throat and drink the magically rich blood – eat the chewy, old flesh. 'No, think!' she commanded herself. 'I need to get out of here!'

Hermione slowly moved behind cover. An old desk with a few pieces of parchment on it gave her shelter from at least the first two or three spells that would come her way. It was the first time she even bothered to look at the large room she was in. It wasn't the Hogwarts infirmary, so much was clear. The walls weren't as ancient as those of Hogwarts and it certainly didn't smell like children around here. No, it smelled like death and dried up blood. Where the hell was she?

Next to her she found a small window. It was too small for her to climb through, but at least it revealed to her that it was night outside. She could escape the building. Now she only needed a way out of the room. A quick look at the wall opposite to the window gave away that the structure wasn't all that sturdy. It was a thin wall, judging from the frame of the door leading through it. She really hoped that she remembered that part from her studies about vampires correctly and charged at the white wall.

Spell-fire hit the area around her but by some miracle not a single spell hit. A last, powerful step and she bulldowzed through the wall. Wooden splinters flew through the air with nails and screws alongside them. With a muffled thud she landed on white tiles in a white hallway. She lost no time, got up and charged in some direction, looking for a window or door to jump through, out of the building. She took a left turn, took three steps at once up a flight of stairs and charged through a group of nurses before she finally came through a swing gate into the reception hall she knew from last year. She was at St. Mungos. Voices came from behind her, shouting and commanding. Throwing some people out of her way she charged through the entry gates, effectively tearing one out of its hinges, into the night of London.

She didn't think long and just followed her instincts up the first roof she found and followed it further until it told her that it was safe to slow down.

***Countess***

 **Another start to another story. Have fun.**


	2. Chapter 2

**19. & 20\. June 1996**

It was a cold night in London, especially without a roof over your head and with barely more on than some linen wrap and knickers. Hermione sat in the corner of a backalley, somewhere in London and tried to figure out what to do with herself. She sat with her back against the brick walls of some run down house that was about three floors high and looked at a house, not two meters in front of her, that was about the same height.

Her parents didn't even know that she existed, her friends had obviously all readily agreed to kill her off and she had no idea where she could turn to. She didn't know any vampires, let alone if there was a place they meet up at. She hid her face in her hands and tried not to despair. Nobody was about to help her, she had no one and if she calculated correctly from the position of the moon, she had about two hours until the sun would go up and burn her to ashes. If she was honest with herself, she had to admit that being burnt dead sounded like an attractive option right now.

"Now, what do you do here, all alone out here, little lady?" asked a voice from her right. She didn't like the voice, it was hoarse and her nose registered a strong smell of alcohol that she would've smelled even without her enhanced vampire senses. She looked at him through her fingers and wondered if he'd see her black eyes and the dangerous red in them. He was far too distracted by her body. His clothes were little more than rags. He wore a dirty shirt of some London football club and his leather jacket had several cuts and tears, just like his jeans.

"Beat it, I don't want to hurt you." she growled and immediately shunned herself when she realized how pathetic that must had sounded.

"Oho, kitty got claws. Don't worry, I'll be a gentle lover." he cackled with his hoarse voice. He came a few steps closer and Hermione could smell the blood through the alcohol. She was hungry, she realized. But he was a human and she didn't want to hurt him. She knew she had to eventually – hurt someone. But she didn't want to do it just now, she wasn't ready, she told herself.

He stepped even closer and was just barely a jump away from her. Another step and she would do it, she knew. "Get away from me. Please. Leave me alone or I'll..."

"You'll what, kitty?" he laughed and stepped a few more steps closer, so that he stood over her.

"Kill you." she said quietly and the beast in her took over. She jumped from her sitting position and rammed her claws through his throat. His eyes were locked in surprise and he gurgled blood instead of screaming for his life. She lifted her left hand and finished him by driving her nails through his temple. Blood streamed from him and with the last pumps of his heart, more and more came out.

Hermione was ecstatic, panicking, laughing, crying as she lowered her fangs deep in the flesh of her prey. Even through the filth and alcohol his blood tasted wonderful. It was far from what her fathers blood had tasted like, but nonetheless it was amazing. Like gravy and fried fish with delicate mayonnaise all connected in a lovely thick liquid that flowed down into her stomach. She brought her jaw together and ripped a part of his flesh off. It was chewy, leathery but all the more delicious in its tenderness. From the bite came more blood and she eagerly sucked it all up with such gusto that the remaining human part in her froze solid in horror. His blood was rich with poisons ranging far beyond fat, alcohol and nicotine. She tasted the spicy aroma of medicines, experienced what crack tasted like in the bloodstream and she archived those tastes even if she couldn't connect them to substances just yet.

So she ate and drank from the man for an hour without being disturbed. She gnawed on his bones and cleared one arm, the flesh around his neck and part of his right shoulder until she decided that she was full. By now, her human parts had shut off, as she was unable to look at what she did. She acted purely on instinct and just like that her instincts decided that it was time to search for an hideout.

She could smell the river from where she was and decided to try her luck at the docks. Jumping over roofs, with huge leaps over large streets, she moved fast towards the docks of London. It didn't take her long, just a few minutes until she saw the new and old docks, the busy ones and the abandoned halls. She quickly went for something far off the busyness without being noticed. She moved gracefully over the roofs and containers while making barely a sound.

It was an old, brick walled industry hall with nothing in it but dust, some old machines and leftover crates that were broken open long ago that she decided on being her new home for the day. Hermione pulled one of the crates with her and placed the small opening of it against a corner of the brick walls so that the sun would have no angle from which to hit her in her sleep. She crawled into the crate and laid down into a corner.

It didn't take her long to find sleep, but when she found it, nightmares came with it. Several times, Hermione shot up from her slumber and just barely kept from screaming in horror. She saw herself cutting through the rows of her loved ones. She saw Dumbledore obliviating her parents and their blank stares when she asked them to hold her. She wanted to cry, but once again no tears came from her eyes. She just silently sobbed until she fell back to sleep again.

Then night came and she felt the beast awaken once more, the moon calling out to her. She tried to hold back, to control what she had become but her savage instincts took over with all their power, swallowing her human intelligence whole and replacing it with the need for more food.

Her consciousness took a backseat as the monster that was Hermione Granger crawled from her hideout and sniffed the air for a lead on something edible. Not far from her, she smelled young blood. She climbed up on the roof and experienced her new enhanced sight for the first time in all its glory. Dark corners seemed lit like on broad daylight, even though the moonlight barely touched them. She saw scents. She recognized trails of people and the smell and genetic trail they left behind. Smallest parts like hair from their brows, scurf and snot painted paths on the concrete. One trail was especially interesting as its owner smelled like she was in a panic and fighting. Droplets of blood mixed between the natural scent of her and promised Hermione an extraordinary meal.

Hermione followed the trail with her eyes while moving over the roofs. The trail became stronger and soon enough Hermione heard angry shouts and screams. A woman and a man in a fight for something Hermione couldn't care less about. His shouts were full of anger and a bit of fear. Her screams were of desperation, panic and defiance. It played in her ears like the sounds of a string quartet that accompanied a dinner with their melodies.

She took a few last jumps over the black roofs and found herself looking into a newer warehouse with a variety of crates and cartons all around. Inside were the man, pressing the woman against a wall with her face while he tried to get her trousers off. She fought him, cut him with her long nails and screamed for help. He shouted at her to shut up while he cursed her for her defiant stand against him. Hermione nearly laughed at the easy catch. She just opened the roof-window, stepped trough and let herself drop onto the man.

The impact was hard, and Hermione brutally slammed the man into the ground. The cracks his neck made and the twisted way in which his limbs stretched out from his body told Hermione that he was dead. She knelled down to him and inspected the man shortly. Broken bones showed through his neck.

"Th-Thank you." the woman stuttered behind her.

Hermione just let out a quiet cackle, turned around and enjoyed the horror in the woman's eyes when hers met Hermione's. "What are you?" the woman breathed, unable to scream in the presence of what she could only describe as a demon.

No answer, just a jump, a bite and even more blood. Once again it tasted glorious and filled Hermiones stomach with its wonderful warmth. She ate for hours and this time she took her time to get the especially juicy parts. The woman had a lot of fat on her as she was completely untrained. Her muscles were full with little fat-cells and Hermione left over her belly as it was barely more than lard, held together by her skin.

The man on the other hand had trained muscles and barely fat on them. He was the more delicious meal for her as she dug in the flesh of his upper legs.

Back in her mind she hated herself and tried to keep herself from eating. She felt like she did it automatically. Her arms ripped of the flesh and moved it to her jaws were they got chewed and devoured with faint squishy sounds. Hermione felt like she was on autopilot – as if she was inside an machine that worked on its own with her as a passenger. She didn't want this, any of this. She didn't want to hunt people like prey and then slaughter them like cattle. She didn't do it. She just looked at it from a position of helplessness.

But she felt how it changed her. Hermione felt how her magic became more pronounced, how her senses got sensitive for smaller things and broader spectrums. With every bite, more previously unknown colors came to her eyes. Blacks became more nuanced while such colors like green became even more detailed. She began to see the differences in the green coating of the forklift that stood next to her. It had had a single color before, but now she saw the differences between places where the painters did a good and bad job with a never before seen clarity.

Her nose became so fine that she was able to determine the scents around her with striking accuracy. Seagulls or pigeon, Hermione knew it somehow. She could smell the difference of salt or pollution in the feathers of the bird. She smelt the last bit of middle-europe forest in the wood of the crates and knew that epoxy glue was used to press the layers of carton together that held the metallic scent of screws and other metal products in it. Steel, copper and some faint scent of silver were in the box next to her.

And then her hearing. A rat, not fifty meters from her was just sniffing on a piece of bread some worker probably had as lunch. On the other side, on a boat on the Themes, a sailor shook out his sweaty shirt over the bulwark and cursed in Spanish. She heard the cars all around in the city, the people going out for party or late night business, the sirens howling, doors and windows closing, shop owners sighing and children begging their mothers to let them stay up longer. It threatened to overwhelm her and it would've, if it wasn't for her magic overwriting most of it.

Hermione didn't know how to describe it. It was as if the magic in her pulsed in excitement. The patterns she had felt before, the waves of power, the calm stream of commands and spells through her tissue transformed into new sensations. She felt powerful, or at least that was how she would describe it. Like her senses, the way in which she felt through her magic became more detailed. She knew that at this very moment she could do wandless magic. No – not just wandless, entirely motionless. She could just will the world to change for her.

Every drop of blood and every muscle fiber enhanced her.

However, the price she paid was far too high. Full from her extensive meal she left the two half-eaten bodies behind and went back to her hideout where she would again be haunted by nightmares and her conscience.

***Countess***

 **2\. Juli 1996**

"Harry, the meetings about to begin. Join us... please."

With a heavy sigh Harry heaved his body from the comfortable armchair in his room in the Burrow. The windows were covered with a, for the sunlight, impenetrable cover of wooden planks and cloth. Everything to keep the newest pet of the Order save and sound, he thought bitterly.

With a glance onto his watch he checked the time and saw, with a shudder, that he merely got an hour of sleep in before Tonks woke him up.

"Harry..." the pink-haired metamorphmagi said in resignation. "You aren't supposed to sleep during the day. You know..."

"I know what Dumbledore said, thank you, Nymphadora." he spat back with venom. Yes, he knew that he wasn't supposed to. But it damn well was his nature now and the Order seemed to deliberately ignore that. He was a vampire now and as such, the sun exhausted him to no end, even if it was hidden behind walls and curtains. The mere fact that it was day drew on his energy. He just wanted to sleep a full days sleep. Something he was denied for weeks now. He couldn't sleep at night. It felt as if the moon called out for him and he grew restless. Just by sheer force of will, and by now, exhaustion he managed to sneak in some hours of sleep during the night.

With a sniff he smelled the irritation of Tonks at the use of her first name. Harry's nose had become so tremendously good that he could sense emotions by the scent of the reaction they caused in humans bodies and especially their blood. It was a useful sense to have, he thought. It gave him reliable information about the humans around him. Just Tonks was, sometimes, unreadable. Remus had said that it was because of her being a metamorph.

Harry also never felt like he wanted her blood. If he was honest with himself, Tonks smelled either bland, or when she did some of her more extreme transformations, downright repulsive. One of the reasons why the Order sent Tonks to deliver messages and reminder to him.

"I'll be down in a minute." he said before the young woman could order him once more.

The Auror in training nodded and closed the door with a silent click of the lock. Deep inside Harry felt terrible for the hard time he gave her. Tonks was trying really hard to not see the bloodsucking, undead creature but the boy becoming man, Harry Potter. However, he would still lash out whenever. He blamed his massive mood swings due to a lack of sleep, but he also knew that it had something to do with the smell of her blood. Just by instinct he was keeping her at more than arms-length. It took an actual, conscious decision from him to treat her nice and when he was honest with himself, it frightened him quite a bit. He wasn't supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be the kind and modest Harry, not some moody and bitter Mr. Potter.

But every time he looked into the mirror, evidence of his change reflected from the flawless surface. He had grown tremendously and rivaled Ron in height now. His muscles were those of an athlete, or martial artist. Slender, though, strong and without a hint of additional fat, they formed his body into the known image of a fighter. Then again, in combination with his eyes, one would be inclined to say predator instead. His iris shone in the known emerald green, just more intense and dangerous. They stood in such stark contrast to the black of the rest of his eyes that he had flinched away from the menacing image the first time he had seen it. Back then he had still the instincts of a human, combined with the hints of looks of a vampire. Now, the prey, the human in him was gone on all levels but his intellect. His magic was that of a vampire, spontaneous, powerful, refusing to produce a Patronus and his body completely ran on blood and refused to digest anything else.

With another heavy sigh, he walked to a bucket in a room. In it was ice, charmed to never melt, that cooled down flasks full of blood. Old blood that tasted stale and bland, sometimes downright disgusting. His 'diet' for the last weeks since the first day he awoke after the Ministry. Within the walls of the Ministry was the first and only time that he had drawn fresh human blood. Some unidentified Death Eater. A grunt that was at the wrong place at the wrong time. A vampire, fresh from his resurrection was nothing a mediocre wizard could fight against, let alone survive.

Harry didn't remember his face, nor how he tasted. He only remembered how his head quickly cleared up and him sprinting after Hermione who had devoured two vampires as her first meal. An act that subsequently lead to her completely loosing it, or so he was told.

With a frown of disgust on his face he pulled one flask from the ice, got rid of the stopper and quickly gulped down the red, thick liquid that tasted as disgusting as days old butterbeer, or cold coffee with spoiled milk. Or any potion Madam Pomfrey liked to use, for that matter.

He waited until his hunger vanished, however unsatisfying it was and then checked on his sun-cover one last time. Black scarfs around his face, sunglasses, a bandana, a hood and cloak. Not one bit of skin was visible. He had learned the hard way. Sunrays hurt more than a Crucio.

A few minutes later, he stood in the frame of the door to the living room of the Weasley home.. He made sure to avoid any direct sunlight on his skin and stayed away from it even though he was covered in cloth from head to toe. Even through the wool and linen, stray sun rays sometimes caught his skin and burnt it severely. It was better to stay out of direct sunlight in the day. It would be even better to sleep through the day, he thought with insults against the headmaster in the back of his mind. It merely resulted in him barely getting sleep and a rather disastrous mood because of it. What was the point?

Three weeks have come and gone since the disaster at the Ministry. Well, Harry had to admit, it wasn't a disaster. If one did the numbers, it ended fairly well for the Order of the Phoenix. Several death eaters were dead, heavily injured and in jail. Voldemort had lost his most valuable fighter, Bellatrix Lestrange until the day he could find some cure for wounds that were infected with the venom of a vampire. Until that time Lestrange would run around with two stumps as arms and a constant graving for blackpudding, courtesy of Hermione.

Harry would trade in the miserable health and jailtime of every Death Eater if he could get her back. He remembered her in the Ministry. He remembered those feral eyes, the claws her hands had transformed into and most of all he remembered her fangs that were significantly longer than his own. He remembered when he had stunned her before she could rip Bellatrix Lestrange to pieces. Hermione hadn't even register it, it had seemed. She had just fallen over. He didn't even know why he had done it. But his fighting instinct had told him to get rid of the human eating monster first.

Harry shook his head to clear out the bad memories. His heart had already broken and he didn't need any more gloominess in his life. Figuring out how to live as a vampire among humans was difficult enough without imagining pools of blood, violence and open wounds. All things that, to his great shock, came as positive things into his mind, as long as Hermione's face was not within them.

In the living room to which he guarded the threshold sat the presently uninjured part of the Order of the Phoenix assembled. Now that Voldemort had gotten a fierce blow, they had another problem that needed solving. The Order had been on a monster hunt for a week now, and neither of them had even seen the beast, just whatever it left behind for them to find. Hermione was damn good.

Even Dumbledore had admitted that he was lucky to be alive after the attack of Hermione. Half an inch deeper and she would've torn more than just his breastbone apart. Something that Madam Pomfrey easily healed in one night, and the healer at St. Mungos even quicker. Just the old age of the headmaster kept him from recovering as quickly as the old man would like.

"The deathcount goes up as we speak. She has killed and... ugh... eaten six people by now. Muggle and wizard, nobodies safe. We have to call for help from the Hunters and we have to do it now." Molly Weasley said in the same, unfriendly voice she adapted lately whenever she spoke about the girl that once, if everything went as she liked, should've been her youngest sons wife. It was an ugly side that Harry had never suspected in her. In these discussions, Molly Weasley was the one that immediately called for blood. She wanted the 'Eater' dead. The Eater that knew her family too good for comfort.

"I have talked to the vampires. She still goes through her initiation. Her condition will soon go from feral beast to intelligent killer and then she'll be invited into the vampire Clans." Remus said, completely ignoring Molly's rant. "However, I also heard rumors that worry me."

"You mean, worry you more than usual?" Sirius asked cheekily. He had the least bit problem with the beast that ran rampage in London. Harry suspected it had to do with the unintentional saving of his arse by Hermione and him therefore being able to enjoy his new found freedom after a quick Wizengamot session. If she wouldn't had jumped Bellatrix, his godfather would've gotten hit by an Avada Kedavra and his innocence would've been for the stone that marked his grave. While it didn't undo the atrocities Hermione had committed after the Ministry, it surely made Sirius somewhat reluctant to catch and kill her.

"The Clanleaders, except for the most... conservative one, want her dead, just like us. Why that is, nobody would tell. I only know that the vampires are on the hunt for her and just as unsuccessful as we are."

"That's probably because she's an Eater. I can't imagine them wanting her in their ranks." Kingsley offered as explanation.

"They don't care. The guy I've spoken with is an Eater. They are accepted in their ranks and get cared for just as much as the normal vampires. No, the reason is a different one." Lupin said while rubbing his chin in contemplation.

"Maybe they're scared of her." Harry said quietly from the threshold. He had smelled the room, just as he did whenever he entered a new room. Most of the scents he knew, but there was something unfamiliar on Remus that he was able to identify just as Remus spoke of his meeting. It was, for a lack of a better word, fear. Everything the body offers when someone felt fear, it was on Remus and it wasn't his own. "I smell it on you Remus. The one you talked to, he was afraid."

"Your nose already became that good?"

"Just recently. I take it this is pretty much the last stage?"

"As far as I know, yes." Remus answered. "So, Fear, huh? I wonder why they'd be afraid of a sixteen year old Eater girl."

Sirius waved his arms up in mock surrender "She's not exactly watching her table manners. Maybe shes an exceptionally brutal Eater?" he offered.

Remus just shook his head. "No. There gotta be more. But I guess... I really hope we don't wake up in an even bigger nightmare when she ends her initiation."

"If you have something to say, say it." Alastor Moody barked out, irritated by the cryptic werewolve who seemed to always have more information about the dark creatures of Britain than he was willing to share.

"Its nothing – a legend, nothing more. Some werewolf packs on the continent get nervous and rumors spread. Just childish myths, really."

"These days, childish myths tend to cut your head off when left unattended." Moody gave back.

"Alright, but don't laugh." Remus sighed and held a hand up in surrender. "There's a pack in Germany, several packs actually, that heard of the case and think its the prophesied ascension of a new Count." He shook his head just to show how little he thought of what he just said.

"A new Count?" Sirius asked, honestly confused. Kingsley and Moody seemed to know what Remus was talking about.

"The last one is widely known as the Count that had united the dark creatures, undead and some other magical beings under him in the fight against the Ottoman Empire and later to strike fear in the heart of mortals. Count Dracula." Remus explained. "He was slain by vampire hunters of the Vatican and since then, the dark creatures wait for a new Count to arise and unite them."

"What makes a Count a Count?" asked Harry from the door frame.

"A Count is something like a natural leader for dark creatures. Werewolves, vampire, undead and several others like, for example, Veela, feel drawn to him. Even some humans tend to follow them. Or at least that is what the stories say that I've heard. There are a hundred different stories about how a Count arises and how they affect dark creatures. All have in common that the Count is cannibalistic in his first meals, that would fit, and that he will drag the mortal world into another Dark Age and therefore some parties are relatively twitchy when it comes to the subject. Especially the vampire Clanleaders seem to be allergic to the subject and forbade it."

Harry moved, silently like his new abilities make him able to, and sat opposite to Remus who held the gaze of the sunnglass covered eyes of the vampire. Harry's own eyes hadn't changed as much as Hermiones, but the white in his' was still replaced with black. He took the sunglasses off and watched with satisfaction the winces and frowns around the table. With his naturally stinging, beautiful green of the iris, his gaze became intimidating and menacing. Harry liked to use it to uphold at least a fraction of the little respect he had gotten from the Order in the first place. "If its true what you say, then that makes no sense. Why wouldn't the vampires rejoice when a Count arises?"

Remus held his gaze, but Harry could smell his discomfort. "No, Harry. You're a new vampire, barely out of your initiation, so you wouldn't know, but the vampire try..." his eyes met Molly's doubtful ones."...they really do try to make living with them acceptable. A new Count..."

"A new Count would destroy these efforts the moment he... or she in our case, enters the stage." Sirius finished.

***Countess***

 **Another chapter. I'm having fun with this, I hope you have fun as well.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Heads up: The following chapter contains German parts. Translations can be found at the end of the chapter.**

 **Also, thanks for the reviews. Appreciate it.**

 **2\. August 1996**

She felt so weak, while being strong as a giant. Her eyes, her skin, her ears and nose hurt her with the impressions they delivered. She was so powerful, she felt is as clear as she felt the remains of her last prey beneath her. Hermione wondered if this was how Dumbledore or Voldemort saw the world. To her it had become an alliance of realities, pushed together to form what the people around her called truth. She could form it at her will. She could will reality to be something else. Normal spells – little things like Stupors, Reductos and Expelliarmus – they came to her by thought and nothing more. She only used her hands and a motion for huge, difficult spells that took much of her power. She did not dare to think what she would be able to do with a wand.

All of her power, she thought, was born from blood. With every piece of human she swallowed, more power came to her. At first, she was horrified by her actions. She justified it by saying that she couldn't do anything, that she was not responsible. Her fourth victim, a wizard barely out of Hogwarts, had made her realize that she was, in fact, responsible. She wanted this, even if she was too afraid to admit it. Within her, voices called out for more blood, more flesh, more violence.

Her fifth victim, another wizard, but old and experienced, made her fight the first time. It had been such an intense sensation to smell his adrenaline and terror. She made the duel long and nurtured his hope with small mistakes. Whenever he dared to think of his escape, Hermione shattered his hopes with a brutal attack. His screams of frustration were just a bit short of being as good as his last breath. While she teared through his body, her heart broke as she admitted that she needed this. This was her life now.

Now she sat over the remains of her latest victim. The woman had just come from a bachelorette party. Hermione had smelled her intoxication as she stepped into the cab that brought her back home. She followed the taxi, broke into the small house it stopped before and broke into it with a simple spell. Not even that, she remembered. She just had to think about the window opening and it did as she commanded. She had commanded the light to hide her and it did so. The young woman never saw her when she entered her bedroom and stripped naked to sleep. This time, Hermione hadn't been hungry. This time, she had done it because she knew she could. When the woman fell asleep, Hermione stepped up to her and sank her fangs into her throat. A small jerk with her jaw and the spine was broken. An hour later, the body was sliced up, the juiciest parts in Hermiones stomach and the rest spread over the bed. These were the only times when her brain became clear. The following clarity always stood in concurrence with the insanity of her inner fiend.

"I'm a monster." she whispered to herself.

"I am a God!" she shouted back at her own comment.

"No! No! Nononono! I... I need to stop...this. I..."

"Silence! I need more of it!"

"Stop! No, I can't. Oh god..."

"No god, only me." she whispered triumphantly.

"Someone..." she begged, her voice becoming even fainter as she started sobbing silently over the blood stained sheets. "...help me!"

***Countess***

 **2\. August 1996**

"Have we ever had anything to do while patrolling the swamps? I mean... in over five-hundred years?"

"The last who came here were the Nazis. Didn't come here all that often after the first time."

"And what would've happened if they'd found the ruins?"

"Would've probably searched them, find nothing, leave again."

"So... why are we patrolling the swamps again?"

"Shut it, recruit. We got orders."

Edda sighed in boredom at the dismissive tone of her superior. There never happened anything interesting in the swamps of the danube delta. There were birds catching frogs, frogs catching flies and flies hovering over her dead skin, hoping beyond hope that she would begin to rot. No luck for the flies, since being a spirit just masterfully tricked her surroundings about the existence of her body. She was a soul, floating around in a world where she didn't quite belong, faking a corporeal existence.

How far the Varangian Guard has fallen. Edda kind of regretted joining them after her death. It had sounded so amazing, being part of the legendary Guard. Personal protectors of the byzantine Emperor, then the elite troops of Vlad the Impaler himself and after that a highly sought after mercenary troop. That was, however, when they were still alive and well. Now they were a band of undead, waiting for the day nobody really thought would ever come. There just wasn't a wallet that would buy their loyalty. Whoever had the money preferred living mercenaries, not to mention that the non-magicals had no way to even see them without a lot of effort from their side. So Edda was stuck watching the perimeter around the last stronghold of the Varangian Guard and report if any mortal breaches the zone.

Nothing happened then, really. Some biologists would sometimes come and look for some birds or things Edda had no interest in. Command would send out a patrol to watch them, maybe give them the creeps so that they would make a run for it. Her superior had told her that Romania was about to join some Union of european nations. Basically he said that there would never again be soldiers walking through the swamps and that she would live out many decades before she gets to fight.

"I'm going to check the perimeter." she stated and let herself drop from their elevated position in one of the higher trees of the swamp. The drop would've broken a mortals bones, but she had long lost the dependency on such things as corporeal limbs. Being a Keres – a vengeful spirit – had its advantages.

Edda didn't even know why she wanted to walk around the ever same swamps. Maybe she had enough of the incredibly boring spectre that was her superior. Maybe she just wanted to go over her wishes and dreams for, well, eternity. What did one do with eternity? Some swore blind alliance to the Varangian Guard. Others ended up in a weird state of coma, forever dreaming until one day they would burn up with the world. She always thought that, being a Keres, she had purpose. She had hated the SS-Officer that had killed her with a garotte with such pure rage that even death had trembled to take her. The Nazis were gone, the SS-Officers had gone with them. They were dead, beyond the veil and she was left, an avenging spirit without a target for her vengeance. Sure, she had driven some fascists into madness by haunting their dreams and lives, but somehow it wasn't the same. Compared to the cold and calculated viciousness of the germans, those wannabes were little more than bullies. In the end, incredibly unsatisfying and not even close to being enough to end her rage.

A rage that has gone cold, she had to admit. She looked into the flat surface of the pond next to her and wondered where the brutal spirit, with chains, robes and wild, long hair flying all around her was gone. The looks of a Keres were greatly determined by her rage and the injustice of her death. Just like those, she went from looking like a powerful lich, to looking like a normal, undead soldier. Her hair was still long, but it had stopped floating around her. Instead it hung down her gaunt face until it reached the lower back. Her eyes weren't red anymore, but black like a endless void. She had definitely taken her beauty from her living days with her, but it was somewhat warped by the skinny build of her undying body. She was clad in linen rags and some metal plating and holding a spirits lance. Still, she would scare the life out of people, but she was far from what she had once been.

Sighing heavily she continued her walk through the endless swamp of northern Romania. At least it was familiar, she thought. Being killed in 1942, the world had changed for her in ways she couldn't even comprehend. She didn't dare to even think how her comrades would see it since some of them had died before Guttenberg had built his bookpress. Hell, some of them remembered what a scandal it was when Julius Caesar had been murdered.

Sometimes they were allowed to go to the nearby cities, just to see something else for a while. The last time she was there, people had talked to no one on the streets, using weird devices that vaguely reminded her of telephones. The non-magical world had changed in ways that she was unable to understand. She preferred to walk the streets of the magical enclaves, even though the residents would be scared of her. She didn't mind, as long as something happened.

However, she felt herself drift away from this world. Sometimes she would stare at a wall for days until she realized what she did. Her superior had told her that this was how these spirit comas began. The periods of her being completely out would become longer until she would one day be stuck in her dreamworld. The cure, according to her commander, was to stay busy. But then again – Vengeful Spirit without anyone to avenge but herself and no culprits to haunt. How exactly was she supposed to stay busy?

She looked up to the moon and, once again, admired its beauty and the amazing background the stars provided. She always wondered if that was were she'd go when she died. After all, she would eventually see the end of the world. Mortals and all things living would be long gone, but she would still roam the earth. She wondered if, when the planet would finally end to exist, she would just drift into the vast space above them, forever flying through an infinite void.

Or maybe, she thought, that was overthinking it. Maybe she would just end like the fly in the mouth of the toad she just passed. There was still a chance that she would just vanish one day. With no purpose and her heart becoming colder and colder, maybe she would get another chance of stepping over the threshold and just... die.

Edda walked slowly through the swamp while her head played through the same scenarios again. She had signed a one-hundred year contract with the Guard. If she hadn't vanished by then, maybe she could roam the earth for a bit. Being a spirit without cause, she was free to move wherever she wanted.

She would, however, prefer to stay with the Guard and just get something to do. She had always felt drawn to the military. Even as a living girl she had wanted to join the army. When they had refused to take girls, she ended up in a partisan group. She didn't care one bit for the well-being of the country. She had been in it for the rush, the adrenaline. Nothing had made her more happy than to run from the Nazis after a successful assassination or recon-mission. Too bad that SS-Officers had been really good at killing the people they deemed unwanted.

She frowned when she realized that she thought in circles, once again. Even with herself she had nothing more to discuss and she was far from completing her first century as a undead creature. Eternity would be absolutely unbearable.

She just hummed a sad tune for the rest of her round. She made a stop at one of the bigger ponds and watched the fish floating through the water lazily. She checked on the sparrow hatchlings she had just found recently and found out that they already left the nest – or were eaten. More birds that killed frogs, more frogs that killed flies and more flies that waited for her to rot with no chance of ever finding any edible flesh to feast on.

She was nearly back at the tree they used for an outlook, when something... called for her. She couldn't describe it any better. Something called out for her. It was like a small voice in her head, asking for her assistance.

"Someone... help me."

Edda startled as if the world was tearing away under her. She turned around in a flash, holding out her spear. To her left, only grass, to her right, only water. Behind her and in front of her an empty path of dirt with no one on it but herself.

"Who is there? Show yourself!" she commanded into the darkness. It took her a while to realize that she was feeling afraid. The swamp was a silent as ever, with the normal background orchestra of flies and frogs. The voice had come from somewhere, but she was unable to determine where. Nobody was on the path and nobody was around her.

"Please, help me."

Edda just ran as fast as she could to the outlook. The tree was just five-hundred meters away from her position and she sprinted the distance in horror. When she finally reached the tree a dry and humorless laugh came out of her when she realized that a Keres just ran from a voice in horror.

"I take it you heard it too?" came the raspy voice of her superior.

"If you mean the voice from nowhere asking for my help, then yes." she answered quietly. "What the hell was that?"

The old ghost didn't answer, but his gaze was more alive than she had ever seen it. His eyes, normally covered with a milky layer, were now as black as hers and shining with cautious determination.

"You know something! Tell me whats happening!" she demanded.

"I don't know, but..."

"But what?!"

"It feels like... It feels as if... he's back."

Edda just looked at the old ghost in confusion and shrugged her shoulders. "Who's back? What...?"

But he just held up a hand and gestured her to follow him. "Command will know more." was all he said before his form swirled around and he apparated back to the stronghold. Edda immediately followed.

Back at headquarters, Edda was stunned at how many ghosts, spirits, specters and banshees had assembled in the yard of the ruined stronghold the Varangian Guard used as base. She remembered that she had never seen the complete Guard all at once. Fifty or so was the most she had ever seen standing in the yard. Now there were hundreds, all staring in tense expectation towards the balcony of the still intact part of the fortress.

Edda had never felt this much tension in the stronghold. Especially the older ghosts, some she just knew as barely conscious, felt as if new life fueled them. Just like her superior, their eyes were a pure black, their incorporeal bodies glowed with power and their gazes were focused as if they readied themselves for battle.

The oldest of the spectres, Tyr son of Völundr and Commander of the Varangian Guard, came onto the balcony. There had always been purpose in his eyes, otherwise he would've gone mad a long time ago. However, she had never seen him with such promise in his eyes. Commander Tyr's eyes nearly glowed in anticipation and through his long, braided beard one could see a faint smile on his hard edged and scarred face. He stepped up to the railing of the balcony and held out his arms with his axe in the right hand and his left hand opened in a welcoming gesture. "Brothers! Sisters! Tonight, the wait is over!" he shouted through the yard. "You have all heard the voice, calling for us. We know this call, my older brothers! It had once been the call we heard whenever the Impaler needed us on the battlefield. Now we will march once more to join our General! To the land of the Romans farthest north, where the Saxons built their Empire. Brothers! We march for England!"

From hundreds of undead mouths, shouts of joy filled the nightly air. Edda shouted just as loud as anybody else. Finally, something happened. She didn't understand what exactly, but at least something.

The Varangian Guard wasted no time. The old spirits held the bit of scripture in their hand that the Guard had been able to safe from mortal eyes and hands. The individual soldier had nothing of value that he didn't carry on him. There was no fatigue to keep in mind, nor was there anything holding them back. There was just this voice in their heads, calling out for them, begging them for help in a way only a leader could. So they marched for they had now something they hadn't got for hundreds of years. The Varangian Guard had finally found purpose.

***Countess***

 **25\. August 1996**

Remus Lupin had never been to Germany before and he had never thought that he would find himself there in his life. Bremen had nothing to offer him besides lousy weather and people he couldn't understand. His German was basically non-existing and he was just glad that the Germans could all at least give directions in English. He hoped that the ones he was about to meet could do more than that, otherwise the coming confrontation would be a useless exercise.

Germany's magical society was in many ways different than the society of England. For one, wizards and witches did not mingle with magical creatures. Wizards and Witches lived in Berlin, Cologne or Munich. Vampires lived in Leipzig, Nürnberg and Stuttgart. Goblins lived in Frankfurt. Centaurs in the huge forests of the Schwarzwald. Veela colonies could be found around secluded villages in the alps bordering Austria. Bremen, Hamburg and Hannover was called the 'Fullmoon Triangle' for a reason. Three powerful werewolf packs had hidden and united there, or better, had focused their forces there when Grindelwald had sought to destroy them.

Remus Lupin was about to meet the infamous inner circle of the 'Graunebel Rudel' or Greyfog Pack that was currently in charge of the Triangle. Fanatics and followers of old werewolf traditions, hidden away in the catacombs and forgotten passageways of Bremen, or at least that was what the english werewolves knew about them. Lately they also got the reputation of aggressors. Many of their followers were found searching for something in the big cities of Britain, disregarding all claims of territory. Being the known trustworthy pacifist without affiliation he was, Remus got chosen to talk to them on behalf of the british packs. He wouldn't be missed if they ripped him apart the moment he entered and he would have the most chance to get them to actually talk. Who knew what someone like Fenrir Greyback would say to them?

Remus had accepted the mission for his own benefit. The order of the Phoenix was equally worried about the intrusion of the Graunebels, even though their worries had other reasons than trespassing territorial borders. They knew something the other packs and the vampire Clans didn't. Why would they risk starting a war between packs? The possible answer made Lupins stomach turn.

He walked through a tiny alley, with meticulously cared for timber-framed, renaissance houses. He was still walking among Muggles until he turned into an Alley the non-magical folk couldn't see. For them it was a solid brick wall, for Lupin and other magicals it was a archway made of stone, leading into a slightly bigger alley with shops, stores and a neat cafè. The architecture of the houses was still the same, with the small differences that magic made signs and doors brought with them.

"A testimony for werewolf culture, wouldn't you say, Remus Lupin?" a voice behind his back asked with a raspy tone baring the typical slight growl of werewolves who didn't hide their nature. His german heritage was evident in his slight accent, but other than that his English sounded perfect. Remus turned around to see a bulky man with an impressive, full beard and a bald head. He wore a robe with leather patches at the joints – a workers clothes. His boots were made of fine looking black leather just like his old-fashioned gauntlets.

"It is, truly. A little hard to find for foreigners, though." Remus answered while offering the stranger his hand.

"Glad to hear its location is still uneasy to make out." the big man said and accepted Lupin's friendly gesture. His handshake was firm and strong, but not uncomfortably so. "My name is Wolfgang Steinhauer. I am the representative of the Graunebel Council. Follow me."

Steinhauer stepped past Lupin and made his way through the crowd. Remus followed him quickly. It didn't go past him how eager the other people in the alley were to let the man pass. Some even nodded submissively or, Lupin noted with surprise, bowed before him.

"You seem to be known around here, Mr. Steinhauer." Lupin said, making sure that his tone made clear that this was a question.

"I am an alpha. Lower wolves respect me, the lowest bow before me. It worries me that you have forgotten the old ways. How can we talk as equals if you're not even aware of your standing?"

"I have no standing." Remus replied impatiently. Bloody conservatives!

"Everybody has a standing, brit. You may have forgotten, but here it still stands true." Steinhauer said in his growling voice that demanded respect with every word. He turned into a even smaller alley and then down a flight of stairs that lead into catacombs. His voice echoed through the delicate and gloomy room, full with rich decorated pillars and ceilings depicting battles between werewolves and everything else that lived.

"We have heard of you, of course. Pacifist, without affiliation and dependent on his wizards." Suddenly Steinhauer turned around and glared at him with feral eyes. "I want you to remember one thing. You are an omega in our eyes. You are weak and nothing more than a lap dog cowering before his wizard masters. We respect your standing as diplomat, but always be aware that beside that you're nothing more than a stray that needs to be put down for his own good."

Leaving Lupin staring at him, he once again turned and continued to move down the catacombs. Remus forced himself out of his stupor. 'This is not going the way I had planned' he thought and considered turning and running. Of course, it stopped at the consideration. Too many people needed him here. Too many waited for his report. The Order had nothing in terms of intelligence beside the made up stories from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the few stray rumors he gathered from the british packs. Those waited for him to prevent nothing short of a werewolf war.

Steinhauer led him through several doors and hallways until they reached a richly decorated wooden door with copper fittings that resembled wolf heads.

"This is where I leave you, Remus Lupin. Behind that door the Council awaits. Farewell." Steinhauer said and then left through the darkness of the catacombs that was barely broken by the few lamps hanging on the side of the hallways.

Remus took a deep breath and prepared himself one last time before he pushed the door open. Behind it he found himself entering a hall of sorts from a side-entry. It was grand, with gold and marble pillars holding up a dome that was decorated with carvings and depictions of wolves and werewolves hunting in fantastical woods. On the white marble floor stood a circular table that looked like a stencil cut out from the scenery with its black ebony wood that stood in such stark contrast with the rest of the room.

"Sit down here, Herr Lupin." came from his left. A gaunt looking man with white hair and a neatly trimmed beard gestured towards a wooden chair made from some other wood than ebony. Other than the regal looking thrones around the table, the chair had no cushions and no decorations. It also stood far from every one of the thrones and sitting down felt like facing a jury to Remus.

"Chieftess Ute Maria Elisabeth Königsberg, the leader of the united packs of the Hanse, and the Counselors will arrive shortly, Herr Lupin. You shall address the Chieftess as 'Her Excellency' or 'Kurfürstin Königsberg'. You shall address the Counselors as such or by their respective titles. A word of warning before I depart. Calling the Chieftess or her Counselors anything else is considered not only rude, but a crime against the laws of the pack." With that the gaunt man left the round hall through a small door on the side.

Lupin sighed heavily as he contemplated what a mess he had driven himself into. Now he felt like the bloody Queen was about to strut into the hall, not some werewolf Clanleader. He had heard that the german wolves still carried noble titles, but he had also thought that they didn't put a lot of meaning onto them. Now it seemed like they were all about their ranks and standings and whatever hierarchy these conservatives still had in place.

A quick look on his watch after he had studied the room forever showed him that they left him waiting for an hour already. Just as he wanted to look if someone was even around the hall, the creaking of the grand front gates of the hall kept him in his uncomfortable chair. Through the gate he could see an amazing hall that was just as impressive as the round one he sat in right now.

Several people came in. The men among them all had impressive beards, neatly trimmed and bald, polished heads. They were clad in expensive looking robes of acromantula silk and their boots and gauntlets looked like dragon hide. The females among them had long, braided hair that was either naturally or colored blonde. Their robes were equally expensive, and their shoes and gauntlets made from luxurious materials. Additionally they wore huge pieces of jewelery, with, to Lupins surprise, naturally grinded and round stones from the river in them. After everyone entered a last figure stepped through the archway of the gates.

The gaunt man from before took position, slammed a golden staff on the floor and spoke proudly "Ich präsentiere dem ehrenwerten Rat, Häuptling Ute Maria Elisabeth von Königsberg, Anführerin der vereinten Rudel der Hanse Kurfürstin des heilig römischen Reiches, Markgräfin von Bremen und Hohepriesterin des Fenris. Erheben sie sich!" **(1)**

The woman was without a doubt the Chieftess. Lupin thought that this woman could probably walk around naked and still everybody would bow in respect. Her posture was that of a leader. Her shoulders were high up, her gaze like iron and she wore a huge scar on her face with the pride of a experienced fighter. As if that wasn't enough, her clothes demanded even more respect from whoever laid eyes upon her. Her robes were made of actual gold, made into wire to be formed into clothing. Under the layer of gold she wore acromantula silk and instead of the dragon hide gauntlets and boots, she wore delicate shoes covered in gold and a pair of gloves made from the same silk as the robes under the gold. A cape of black silk caressed her back and outlined her face nicely. To top it all off, she wore double the amount of jewelery and a small diadem with an impressive diamond in it.

The image before him alone made him stand up and bow slightly before the assembled Council. There were twenty people in total who nearly reeked of wealth and power. Next to them, Lupin seemed like something the sewers spit out, even if he was clad in the expensive robes he had lend from Kingsley.

The Chieftess sat down exactly opposite from Lupin in the biggest and most richly decorated throne there was in the room. Servants that came after her in the room brought crystal cups and filled them with water. She took a sip of the clear liquid and then gestured a servant. The young man walked towards Lupin and pointed him towards the chair to sit down. Lupin did as told and then waited for the Chieftess to speak first. He was sweating and his throat was awfully dry. The crystal cup before him taunted him with the water in it, but Lupin was scared to move and so he left the cup were it was.

His discomfort seemed to amuse the Chieftess, or at least he hoped it did. The corners of her mouth were just a bit higher up so that the faint impression of a smile could be seen. The Chieftess remained silent and instead, one of the counselors left of Lupin addressed him first.

"Remus Lupin. It was brought to our attention that you are here on a diplomatic mission for the british packs."

"That is correct, Counselor I was sent here to speak to this council about the territorial breaches in our lands." Lupin answered politely. His words raised a few eyebrows and some of the council shook their head in amusement. "The packs of London, Brighton and Manchester have reported several times that they have seen Graunebel wolves in their cities, disrupting the agreements the packs of Europe have with each other. The leader of the british packs ask for an explanation."

"What you're saying is they demand it, don't they, Omega?" one of the female werewolves to Lupins right asked with not a little repulsion in her words as she addressed him with his standing in their society. She was especially feral looking with golden eyes, judging his robes, face and posture. He felt like confronting Greyback all over again. The dangerous, nearly feral werewolves all had the same aura around them. One of unpredictability and mortal danger.

Lupin carved his courage together, he was a Gryffindor after all, and answered the woman as politely as possible. "We are merely wondering why your people risk the consequences of overstepping territorial borders, Counselor."

"The consequences?" the woman laughed. "Are you going to send your masters against us? We have dealt with wizards, pet. The Hanse packs suffer no cowards! Tell your leaders..."

The woman immediately went silent when the Chieftess raised her hand in a gesture that was barely more than a jerk of the hand. On her it still looked like a gesture of power, given that her body was perfectly still the entire time.

"Ich bitte um Verzeihung, Majestät." **(2)** the counselor said and bowed deep before the Chieftess.

"Übe dich in Geduld, Kind." **(3)** One of the older looking werewolves said with a kind tone in his voice. Then he looked towards Lupin and his voice shifted to a neutral, calculating one. "We have reasons to go to Britain, Mr. Lupin. None of those reasons involve provocation. So rest assured that the Graunebel wolves will not disturb your powerplay."

Lupin looked back at the older man in confusion. "What powerplay? The packs of Britain have undisputed leaders."

The answer came in a somewhat sad shake of the old mans head and several snickering counselors. Lupin felt greatly left out of the joke and forgot all about his tone. "I have come here to prevent a war, Counselors , your Excellency." he said leaving no doubt that he gave no value to the titles. "I ask for information to appease the british packs and you leave me with nothing. If I come back with this I cannot say what the reaction will be."

His words got some of the counselors to stand up and growl at him, or call him names Lupin had never heard before. Especially the woman that spoke to him before looked ready to kill and her guttural growl could be easily heard through the others.

"Leave us."

The entire room went completely silent in an instant. All heads turned towards the Chieftess who said nothing more to the counselors.

"Aber, eure Majestät!" **(4)** the feral looking woman began but was immediately silenced by just another small move of the Chieftess' hand.

The gates of the hall opened and the counselors left the room ever so reluctant. Some tried to threaten Lupin with their gaze, others looked rather gobsmacked at their Chieftess orders. It took no more than a minute before Lupin sat alone in front of the Chieftess. No servants were present and the counselors were kept from listening in by the huge gates closing.

"War, Mr. Lupin?" the Chieftess asked.

"That is what I fear, your Excellency." he answreed.

"Do I have to expect your people to engage in military actions?"

"The leaders don't..." he started.

"There are no leaders in Britain, Mr. Lupin." she interrupted and Remus fell silent immediately. Something in her voice commanded obedience and Remus couldn't help but obey. "There is no one in Britain who leads the werewolves. Imagine my surprise when I got the message that the packleaders of Britain send an diplomat. It left me wondering who they'll send. Someone who cowers before the Lord Voldemort, or someone who gets his ears petted by Dumbledore?"

Remus had to force himself to look her in the eyes. Her clear dark-blue pierced his own and he couldn't stand to hold her gaze for long time periods. "I was sent because the vote of the London council decided on me. We..."

"Who is that 'London council'?" she interrupted once again.

"Lucian Trent, Orelia O'Harra, Stephan Bjergsson and Tory Gilligan, your Excellency."

"So, we have two werewolves who get their orders from the dark wizard Voldemort, one who lives with a witch as a wive and one who deems Dumbledore a good choice as leader." Slowly she stood up, rearranged her robes and then directed her gaze once more at Lupin who felt himself cower for a second. She continued while slowly circling the table. "Mr. Lupin, how much have you seen of Bremen today?"

"Not much, I've just seen the alley that lead to this place."

"A shame." she said and her voice gave Lupin shivers down his spine. What was it with that woman that he felt the need to kneel before her, he wondered.

"Mr. Lupin, I asked myself something for a long time now and maybe you can answer me?"

"What do you wonder about, your Excellency?"

"Are you happy?" she asked and somewhere in her tone, motherly worry mixed into her coldness.

"Pardon, but I fail to understand what you mean."

"I mean, are you happy with how you live in Britain? The cruel wizards laws against our kind, the stigma that comes with being a werewolf, the embarrassment you have to endure when asking for wolfsbane in your hospital?"

Lupin wanted to say that he was happy, that he enjoyed living in Britain, but the words got stuck in his throat. He couldn't lie to her. Of course he despised the laws against him and the way people reacted to him when they found out. But he wasn't here to whine about his fate and much less to get stuck in her questions about happiness.

"I'm reasonably satisfied with my life." he answered lamely.

"Reasonably satisfied?" she laughed. "Let me say that I honestly doubt that, Mr. Lupin. In fact, I dare say that you despise the wizards laws just as much as I do. Isn't this why so many of the british werewolves flock to this Lord Voldemort? Because he promises them freedom to do as they wish? As much of an disgrace it is that a wizard has even the chance to promise this to a wolf."

"Your Excellency, this isn't why..."

"No, it isn't why you came here." she finished for him. "But it certainly is why I have absolutely no worries of a war. There is no one in Britain who cares about wolf territories and could rally a hand full of werwolves without having to fight for the leader position. There are, of course, a few alphas within your ranks who can demand respect and loyalty. But make no mistake, there is not a single pack in Britain with a leader. Without leaders there are no forces that could defy the Hanse packs. What is a claim worth if there is no one standing behind it? You threaten with war, Lupin, while your brothers and sisters fight among themselves? Tell them this. I don't acknowledge the territory of any so called pack in Britain and I do not care if it messes with their false claim to power. I don't respect them more than I would respect any omega among my own ranks. Werewolves who flock to wizards for help are not worth considering."

Lupin sat there, gobsmacked and devouring what he had just heard. The Chieftess had no venom or arrogance in her voice. She merely stated that she didn't consider british werewolves worth a damn, let alone a threat. It struck deep, her words, for they were nothing but the truth, now that he considered it. Werewolves in the underground of London changed allegiance like socks. One day they would follow Fenrir Greyback on a raid, just to come to Bjergsson to get their monthly wolfsbane from the next day.

Lupin bowed his head down and sighed loudly. He closed his eyes and just sat there while he searched for words.

Chieftess Königsberg stepped behind him and carefully placed her hands on his shoulders. Lupin startled, but remained sitting. Her touch was oddly comforting and sitting so close beside her made his stomach flip. He remembered feeling the same when he first met Dumbledore, with the difference that this woman was a werewolf – his kind.

"Tell me, Remus Lupin. Would you like to be happy?"

Her voice was so calm and warm, her touch so comforting that Remus sunk even deeper into himself. What did she really ask? He didn't know, but he nodded nevertheless. It was the truth.

"I can give that to you, Remus. I can make you happy. A job, a home, a supply of wolfsbane, no one who judges you for being a son of the moon - a normal life." she said while her hands moved around his shoulders, into his hair and stopping at his cheeks where they caressed him almost lovingly.

"What..." he started, nealy unable to speak. The sensation of her hands on his skin was almost unbearable.

"Have you heard the call?"

"The call, your Excellency?"

The Chieftess laughed silently, making her amusement a thing of delicate beauty. Then she sighed "Your life with the wizards has truly warped your senses. What I mean is the call of her. Of the great leader, the heir to the Impaler, the bloodmoon. The one who rides the world devourer. She calls for us, and we search for her. She is on the island."

The Chieftess quickly moved around the chair and looked Lupin straight in the eyes. Her dark-blue irises shone in excitement and he couldn't look away, no matter how hard he tried. She cupped his cheeks and he felt his heart skip a beat from her touch. When she spoke her lips moved so controlled, so delicately and beautiful that Lupin struggled to pay attention to her words.

"The Countess. The vampire who first feasted on his own and ascended in a trail of blood during the new moon. She needs us, Remus. You know her! Find her! Help her! She needs our strength. She needs you!" The Chieftess' voice became so faint, but everything she said hammered into his mind as if written into him. She was so beautiful, so powerful and benevolent. Remus Lupin fell from his chair, onto his knees and bowed before her, so deep that his forehead touched the marble. He didn't know why, but all thoughts of treason were gone. There was only one to obey. Kurfürstin Königsberg and no one else.

"I will find her, your Excellency. I will find her and protect her. Is there something... anything else I can do for you?"

She knelled beside him, and softly touched the back of his head. What a sensation. "Keep me up to date with an owl, my pup. We need to help her ascend to her full potential. If there is anyone who stands between her and her ascension, inform me of it. Do you understand?"

"Absolutely, your Excellency. I shall do as commanded."

***Countess***

 **(1)**

 **I present to the esteemed Council, Chieftess Ute Maria Elisabeth von Königsberg, Leader of the united packs of the Hanse, Kurfürstin of the holy roman empire, Markgräfin of Bremen and High Priestess of Fenrir. Rise!**

 **(2)**

 **I beg your forgiveness, your majesty.**

 **(3)**

 **Exercise patience, child.**

 **(4)**

 **But, your majesty!**

 **Kürfürstin: Something like an Archduchess**

 **Markgräfin: Also something like a Duchess. For details, google it.**

 **So, there it is. After we see old allies gone, we see the first new allies rising, ready to mix up magical europe.**

 **Next chapter will be a "Harry goes to Hogwarts"... at least for a bit.**


	4. Chapter 4

**1. & 2\. September 1996**

It was the first of Septembre and Harry Potter stood alone at Platform 93/4 , in the shadows of a pillar where no sun would have the chance to burn him. In front of him, chatting like nothings going on were the Weasleys.

A small strip of light shone through the pillars, directly in front of his shoes. It made him, once again, think of just walking into the sun and burning. His life had become a living hell, why not end it? Ron wouldn't talk to him anymore, since the red-haired idiot was too afraid of him. Even assuring him countless times that when Harry wasn't hungry, he wasn't dangerous, didn't help one bit. Ron still looked at him as if he was a feral beast, ready to jump at his throat. By now Harry caught himself thinking about actually doing it, hungry or not, just to end his stares.

Most of the Weasley weren't any better. Every time he was at the Burrow Molly Weasley made sure he wouldn't sit even close to her children. Ginny Weasley acted as if she didn't know him anymore and Arthur only looked sadly at him. The only ones who'd still talk to him as if he wasn't an 'undead bloodsucker' were the twins and he wouldn't have any contact with them at Hogwarts, other than seeing their products in action.

However, the absolute worst was the absence of her. This year, he wouldn't have Hermione at his side. He would be alone this year. Truly alone. There would be no one asking if he had already done his homework. Nobody who would gift him with a beautiful smile whenever he did something to be proud of. There was no one who would stand by his side, no matter what others thought. No one to talk about matters of the heart. No one who would listen to his worries and sorrow or his happier thoughts.

She had been gone for nearly a month now, hiding somewhere nobody could find her, only showing when she hunted for blood and flesh, with Merlin knows how many parties after her. Remus had reported that even the bloody Germans searched for her, although he said they would help her for some reason. Why anyone would help a murderous monster like the thing Hermione had become was beyond him, but Remus kept suspiciously quiet about his visit to Bremen.

How many she had killed by now, he didn't know. He had stopped counting after the double dozen was full and he became sure that the girl he once knew was gone. By now it must be a bit over thirty people. Lately, the Order thought that she had stopped until the centaur Firenze had told Dumbledore that three of his kind were found murdered and sucked dry to the bone with huge chunks of flesh missing. Before that she had preyed on pretty much everything the magical and non-magical world had to offer. Whatever had blood and soul, Hermione killed it. Humans, Goblins, Centaurs – even a Mer was among the victims.

Harry had to remind himself that they were akin. He was also a vampire now, even if he walked during the day and tried to sleep at night. The rings under his eyes and the constant twitching of the same was a testimony of the sparse success he had with that strategy. He reminded himself that he was also supposed to hunt and suck peoples blood. Up until now, he did well enough with blood-donations given to him in flasks. One pint whenever he felt hungry. It was just enough to quench his thirst, but Harry would drop dead three times over before he'd hurt anyone, even if his lust for more was sometimes unbearable to suppress.

How Dumbledore had managed to get him back to Hogwarts remained a puzzle Harry found himself unable to solve.

He grew tired of looking at the many families on the platform saying goodbyes and kissing their kids on the cheeks, or hugging them lovingly. Harry grabbed the handle of his trunk and moved towards the train while trying to get as little attention as possible. However, a black clad figure with a scarf around his head, sunglasses and cloth over mouth and nose didn't go unnoticed. There were several eyes on him when he entered the train and looked for a compartment.

Harry moved quickly, now that he didn't have to watch for anyone to come along with him. He luckily found a compartment with no one in it in no time and entered. He drew close the curtains, both of the windows to the outside and to the inside. Then he placed his trunk above him, freed his face from the cloth and sat down with a huff.

This was going to be a long – long year at Hogwarts.

It didn't take long until the train started to move. Some last students hoped onto the slowly accelerating train, shouting some last good wishes behind their back. Then the Hogwarts Express left the station and with it the last chance for Harry to go back.

Even if the Order was now more a bunch of keepers for him, they at least let him be him in peace. Tonks occasionally brought more flasks of blood since her metamorph-blood smelled inedible to him, so no risk of biting her before getting his hands on the food. But other than that he only saw the Order when they talked about something Voldemort or Hermione related. The rest of the day he spent researching all about vampires with the books he got from Remus. The most studious and intelligent of the Marauders was the only one that didn't flinch and cower in his presence. Him and Sirius, even though the Heir to the Black fortune was no measurement. Over a decade in Azkaban made one a bit resistant to fear. Dementors were still scarier then vampires.

Harry lazily looked at the scenery outside the window and made an effort to ignore the audible whispers from outside his compartment. There wasn't even a possibility for him to cover up the fact. His eyes were a dead giveaway that he was an undead, teenage bloodsucker. But even without that, he would be hard pressed to explain why he lost his passion of flying in the bright, summer sun all of a sudden. Or why his pumpkin juice is dark-red. Or why he prefers to look at a girls throat instead of cleavage.

Hours he spent just looking outside the window. Trees, houses and fields ran by him and sooner or later it became a blur to him. He gazed outside and allowed his eyes to loose focus on anything. It cleared his mind and made him forget about the mess of his life. This dark blur of insomnia, sorrow and grief, mixed together with the knowledge that he was the one the world, even fate itself, expected to kill Voldemort.

"Why am I doing this again?" he asked the empty space around him.

Before he could fall deeper into his dark thoughts, he felt himself begin to smell the blood in the veins of the people in the compartments around him. A quick grab into his robes inner pocket produced a small, glass flask with blood in it. His provisions for the journey, so to say.

He opened the flask and smelled the familiar scent of treacle tarts, the wood of his broom and the flowery scent of the gardens of the Burrow. However,he knew that the taste would be bland, disgustingly so. Old, stale blood was just the worst.

Harry had gotten used to drinking the red liquid, even if his first attempts made him consider himself an abomination. Blood had the same smell to him as powerful love potions would. That fact alone made him decide that being a vampire is just beyond fucked up. He never had the questionable pleasure of drinking from a human directly, except for one time in the Ministry, but he knew that even the taste of fresh blood was close to his favorite dishes and the effects of Amortentia. It was the ultimate irony, for Harry at least, that a vampire would get the side effects of love potion while causing carnage among the living.

Merlin, how he hated this.

With a frown he held the flask up and looked at the old blood, an expression of disgust plastered on his face. He was about to drink it when his compartment door opened.

"So it is true?" the voice of Draco Malfoy drawled through the compartment. "The famous Harry Potter is a rotting bloodsucker."

Harry eyed the blond ponce with nothing but loathing and took in what he saw and smelled. The Malfoy heir was looking tired, exhausted and yet he went out of his way to see if the rumors are true. But his appearance was just secondary to Harry. What really peaked his interest was the sugary smell of the boys blood that ran through the artery right beneath the skin of his throat. He could smell just the faintest bit of fear.

"You may want to leave now, Malfoy." Harry growled in the voice he had gotten used to in the last weeks. The voice he used to threaten with.

Oh, how he would love to jump at the ponce and rip his throat out. The images already played in his mind, but Harry tried his hardest to suppress them. He had promised to keep it under control. He had given Remus and Sirius his word that he would do his best to finish his education, so that maybe he could one day at least find a life worth living among the vampires of Britain.

But for fucks sake, that greasy git looked appetizing.

And there were tutors out there, weren't there?

One could argue that a Malfoy gone was worth his education at Hogwarts. Yes, quite definitely a good argument, that.

"Sure. It stinks of blood an rotten flesh in here, anyway." Draco said and finished it up with one of his insufferable smirks before he vanished behind the walls of the compartment with a mocking laugh, leaving the scent of his suppressed fear behind.

Harry was immensely proud and equally disappointed by the restrained he had just shown. Compared to the stale blood in the flask, Draco's life juice smelled like a gourmet dinner. Especially since the blond ferret was just about to realize to whom, or better, to what he had just been a insufferable prick. Fear really spiced up blood.

He pressed his eyes close, lifted the flask and gulped its content down as fast as he could. As expected, it was absolutely disgusting.

The rest of the train ride went by without much disturbance. People still kept peeking in through the glass, and with his enhanced hearing, Harry could easily make out what they were saying. Judging from it, he would probably skip the meals in the Great Hall completely. He even thought about skipping the Welcoming Feast and just go to the dorms. But the already rising hunger said otherwise. Dumbledore had made it clear that he wanted Harry among the students so Harry had no hope of receiving his meal of blood in the dorm or at the kitchens.

Fucking, old and senile prick.

Didn't that sound like a great idea? Letting the undead boy walk through a buffet of blood while asking him to eat from the trash-bin. Any other time, Harry would have thought it a compliment that Dumbledore was so certain of his self restraint.

But this was just the absolute worst.

An entire train ride later, when he stepped out of the wagon, feeling a lot better without the sunglasses and scarfs hiding him, he was amazed that it was possible for people to create such a wide empty area on such a crowded train-station around him. Seeing if it would hold, he strut forward to the carriages and tried to make as little eye contact as possible. Those he shared glances with grew pale and quickly averted their gaze. His eyes were, after all, those of a predator. A sheep also refrains from looking a wolf in the eyes.

As he expected, he shared a carriage with just himself. The thestral that pulled the carriage drove him up to the castle, while he enjoyed the faint light of the moon that was now as bright for him as the sun was before his untimely non-death. He would've loved to do something, anything now, but even vampires got tired, especially when they hadn't slept good for weeks. It was such a weird feeling, being drawn out by the moon and simultaneously feeling like he could fall asleep on the spot.

With a heavy sigh he stepped out of the carriage and took a long look at the school in front of him. The lights, the students and Professor Flitwick who checked if everybody was there.

Harry didn't care if the half-goblin saw him or not, he just walked past him and entered the school and shortly after, the Great Hall. He just vaguely made out the other sixth years and sat down between Neville and Lavender. Both shuffled away from him as far as possible the moment he sat down.

It took all his discipline to ignore the whispers around him as well as the smell of fear and anger. He could hear them question the sanity of Dumbledore for letting him stay in Hogwarts, Chosen One or not.

Harry had to admit that in that point, he was in total agreement. This whole thing was surely one of Dumbledore's denser ideas.

Being bored by staring at the wooden table, he dared to glance at the Hall around him. As expected, all eyes were on him and most of them were either filled with loathing or fear. The Slytherins had some among them who snickered and giggled uncontrollably while pointing at him. Harry swore that if he ever lost control, he would rip those people apart, first.

The Ravenclaws had some among them who looked at him with unhidden curiosity as if he was a animal in a zoo. One of the seventh years even took notes. There was just Luna Lovegood who seemed to be way too distracted by something in one of her strains of hair to notice something as profane as a vampire in their midst.

The Hufflepuffs were, quite frankly, the most pathetic of them all. Harry could hear them already making plans to go out in at least groups of three and the sixth years as complete classes whenever they had a lesson with the Gryffindors. Harry could almost hear Hermione in his head. _Honestly, as if that would save them from an angry vampire._

The last table he scanned with his enhanced senses were his own house-mates. The Gryffindors were, to say the least, split. Some were unsure what to think of the situation and proclaimed that they would wait and see. Others were anything but pleased to share a dorm with a bloodsucking, undead, dark creature. Ron was among those.

And one was... Harry focused his senses towards the voice of a girl and listened in on her conversation with her friends. It was Romilda Vane, as far as Harry remembered.

"But ignoring the eyes, he does look hot with all that muscle on him." she whispered to one of the girls around her. And what was that smell, Harry wondered in quite a bit of shock. Wait... was that... lust? _'Good Merlin, what is wrong with you, woman!?'_

Harry tried not to make it too obvious on his face that he had just discovered that obviously, Vane was a necrophile. But just as he tried hard to not let the disgust show on his face, his nose kept the scent of longing women and it found it again at the Hufflepuff table.

Harry made sure to not directly hit the gaze of Susan Bones as she bit her lower lip. A shudder went down his spine and he averted his whole head, just to meet eyes of some Slytherin girl he had never recognized before who seemed to think about jumping at him right here in the Hall.

"This is ridiculous." Harry murmured and looked away towards the teachers table where he was sure he wouldn't...

"Oh, for fucks sake." he exclaimed, a bit louder this time. Up there on the teachers table sat one Aurora Sinistra and met his eyes. She wore, other than the teenage girls, unmasked longing on her face.

Harry just went back to facing the table and just tried not to flare up with the brightest blush since the time he asked Cho out to the Yule Ball. He was also thankful that the headmaster began his usual welcoming and beckoned the first years forward to be sorted into the Houses. The Sorting went quick, as the hat merely reminded everybody to stand closer together in difficult times and none of the firsties took longer than one minute to sort.

When the Sorting had ended and the last kid stormed off the podium to meet his new Ravenclaw house-mates, Dumbledore stood up from his chair at the head table and addressed the school one more time.

"Welcome and welcome back, everybody. I am glad to see you all healthy and well before me, especially in these troubled times. As the Sorting Hat has just reminded us, we must stand together to face the evil that threatens our world. So I invite you to look beyond houses, beyond groups and petty differences while learning to master your magical craft." He opened his arms in a wide gesture while he spoke and pointedly ignored the occasional snort from the Slytherin table. "But even though great danger lies before us, some smaller dangers are also within reach. The Forbidden Forest is, as the name suggests, forbidden. Also the list of prohibited items and artefacts got updated and is available in Mister Filchs office. I invite you to look them up at your convenience." Then Dumbledore's posture visibly sagged and the twinkle in his eyes vanished from them. "One last thing before we eat. Most of you will have heard of what happened to Mr. Potter while he engaged in battle with the forces of Lord Voldemort. It is indeed true that Mr. Potter is now a vampire..." Loud gasps across the hall made Harry roll his eyes. "...and is within this school."

Somewhere around the Ravenclaw table, Harry heard someone shout "Why?" which lead to myriads of voices shouting simultaneously.

"Why is he here?"

"Is he dangerous?"

"Who protects us from him?"

The questions and angry shouts mixed into a blur of sound before Dumbledore silenced everybody with a Sonorus charm and a discipline demanding "SILENCE!"

He dispelled the Sonorus and then continued as calmly as before. "Mr. Potter is capable of controlling his hunger and will not cause problems, let alone pose a source of danger to you. He learned and learns to live among humans and I hope that you will see past his condition in time, for in the end, he is still Harry Potter. A friend to many of you and a fellow student to all of you."

Dumbledore kept a pause, making clear that the matter was now over and all they needed to know had been said. "Well then, everybody. I'd say hat this is enough words from me for today. Let me end my speech with two last ones. Dig in!"

At the words, the tables filled with foods of all kinds. None of them edible for Harry with the exception of the content of one pitcher before him. A metal pitcher full of what Harry's nose identified as animal blood. Probably cow or pig, he thought. But given his already twitchy mood, he might as well find out.

Harry grabbed the goblet before him and filled it to the brink with the thick red liquid. Meanwhile the table around him grew still as they watched him move the goblet to his lips. Harry tried to ignore the stares, but it irritated him to no end that they would stop eating to watch him drink blood. Hell, Dean even gagged when he watched Harry drink the bland tasting liquid, pig blood he identified, in big gulps to make the taste as bearable as possible.

When he was finished, he took another goblet full of blood and then another. After the third he felt his hunger satisfied and found the Gryffindor table in a horrified stun. Harry just raised his hands in an annoyed gesture and asked "Did you expect me to drink pumpkin juice?" loud enough for all the staring Lions to hear.

The silence that spread across the table was filled with anticipation. Whoever would crack first, would set the mood, so Harry knew. Then a small giggle could be heard from down the table and Harry immediately recognized it as Vanes' voice. Following her lead, the whole table began to chuckle until some even loudly roared in laughter. A testimony to the tension that had been present before Harry's mediocre joke.

They didn't stop to look at him nervous, but at least the table continued to eat and stopped acting like Harry would kill them all the next second. He made a mental note to thank Romilda for that later, even if her fetish seemed to be dead people. That still crept him out beyond belief.

When the feast was nearly over and the last brave stomachs ended their second helping of dessert, Professor McGonagall walked up and quickly informed him that the headmaster would like to speak to Harry in his office.

So just when everybody stood up and made their ways to their dorms, Harry made his way to the familiar gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the headmasters office and waited in front of it. McGonagall hadn't told him the password and so Harry assumed that sooner or later someone would come to let him in.

Just a few minutes later, Dumbledore walked around the corner with his usual twinkle in his eyes as he recognized Harry standing and waiting.

"Good evening, Harry. Good of you to come."

"Good evening, Professor. Professor McGonagall said you wanted to talk to me."

Dumbledore nodded with a smile. "That is correct. And I presume you already know what will be the subject of conversation. But let us take this into my office. Sourpops."

At the usual candy inspired password the gargoyle stepped away from the entry and let headmaster and student enter. Both kept silent while the stairs carried them upwards and as they walked into the office. Without further ado, Dumbledore took his seat behind the huge desk and Harry sat down in front of it.

The headmaster's hand moved towards the bowl of lemondrops on his desk and Harry was already opening his mouth to remind the Professor that candy is also rather unhealthy for his undead system, when the Professor grabbed a smaller bowl behind the sour-sweet candy and offered it to Harry. "Blood Pops?"

"What?" Harry let out when he saw the dark-red candy before him.

"Blood Pops. A candy I found rather useless until lately, when I figured you'd be unable to enjoy the taste of lemondrops."

"Its actual blood?" Harry asked gobsmacked.

"Yes it is. That is why I'm so curious as to why some of the living even bother to buy them." Dumbledore answered in a cheerful tone.

Harry didn't even think too much about it and just grabbed one of the curious round candies. He first smelled it and determined that it was animal blood. Then he flung it in his mouth and was amazed by how good they tasted. Nothing like the bland and sometimes even foul taste of old blood. It tasted like freshly drawn blood with a thick layer of sugary flavors above all. "They're amazing." Harry commented, still stunned by the fact that there was candy for vampires. But then he regained his composure and looked back at the warm, smiling headmaster. "I'm sure you didn't invite me here to show me vampire candy?"

"Well observed, Harry." Dumbledore chuckled. "I'm here to discuss your special condition and the ramifications of said condition."

"Or in other words, you want to discuss how I'm going to fit into a school full of still pumping hearts."

"First of all, I think it is of great importance to not decline into a cynical mindset." Dumbledore said, his expression sporting a slight frown at Harry's comment. "Second of all, you will have help."

Harry rose his eyebrow slightly, unsure of what the headmaster meant. He truly hoped that it was more than the half-truths he heard all summer from the Aurors, Remus and his godfather, as well meant as they were. Dumbledore began to chuckle at Harry's skeptical look and just waved his hand towards the door. "Help has just arrived at the bottom of the stairs. Just a few seconds."

Harry waited in a mix of nervous anticipation and actual excitement. On one side he thought with dread that Dumbledore had completely sent his brain on vacation and made him take lessons with Snape again. On the other hand, what if the headmaster actually did something that benefited him immediately? A far shot, but Harry still had hope.

He heard the steps on the stairs and sighed in relief when he made out the distinct noise of high-heeled shoes. But what came as a surprise to him was that he couldn't smell anything beyond a faint, but stunning parfum.

"Enter, please." Dumbledore said and opened the door with a flick of his wand.

Harry couldn't hold the gasp that escaped him when he saw one of, if not the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, safe for, maybe, Fleur Delacour. The woman had black hair that went down her back and ended just above her well formed bottom. Her features were so close to someone that Harry felt some weird sense of familiarity. However, most importantly, the violet color of her eyes were surrounded by black where the white should have been. The woman was a vampire.

Dumbledore went close to her without a second thought, took her hand and placed a respectful kiss on the back of it. Then he led her into the room and let her take a seat on a quickly conjured couch.

"Harry, may I introduce to you the Lady Isla Black?" he said with a polite smile on his face.

"Black, as in... The House of Black?"

"Indeed, Mr. Potter. I'm related to your godfather... and to your father for that matter. Pureblood families are always, aren't they?" she finished with a slight, elegant giggle that made Harry's knees weak.

"Sirius had never mentioned you." Harry pressed out while trying to regain control over his teenage hormones.

"Sirius Black doesn't know me, I would think. I don't mingle much with the mortals, Mr. Potter."

Still having enough sense to put two and two together, Harry asked confused. "Then why are you here to help me? No offense, but I would need advice on how to 'mingle with mortals' as you put it."

Again that giggle, and again Harry had to struggle to keep his wits. Somewhere in his head a voice told him to just walk up to her and take her on the couch, no matter if the old geezer watches or not. Harry made a mental note to shut that voice up for good.

"I may not mingle much with mortals, but I assure you, that is more than most vampires do. We are a very... exclusive society." she answered with her regal and beautiful voice. "Tell me, Mr. Potter. Today at the feast. What did you witness?"

"You mean, other than people who'd like nothing more than at least a mile between me and them?" he asked, quite aware of the disapproving look the headmaster gave him.

"Very good, Mr. Potter. It is indeed in the nature of humans to avoid vampires like gazelles avoid lions." she said way too cheerful for that topic. She turned to Dumbledore who sported the slight frown from before on his face. "Oh please, Albus. We are merely stating the obvious. It is just natures way that vampires hunt humans, even if we try to overcome these instincts, nowadays."

"I trust that you will keep Mr. Potter clear of the... natural paths, Isla?" the headmaster asked, no twinkle in his eyes to be seen.

The answer he received came with a frown that twisted the beautiful face of Isla Black and showed but a hint of her more feral, vampiric nature. "I will teach him to restrain his hunger. I will not teach him to become a daywalker, let alone deny his nature. He is a vampire, Albus, and I will introduce him to our ways."

"This is not what we have agreed upon." Dumbledore started but was interrupted by a growl from Lady Black.

"What? I have never agreed to anything that would harm the boy, Albus! It is not natural for him to walk the day. It is not natural for him to never taste blood from veins and it is certainly not in his best interest to pretend he never got bitten."

"This is not yours to decide, Isla!" Dumbledore countered.

"But it is your decision?" Isla spat back, her expression now twisted in anger. "You're a fool, Albus. You've always been one. You could never stand it if fate takes away your chess-pieces, you little man. And the brutality with which you try to keep them betrays how weak you really are."

She then turned around and faced Harry dead on. "If you want to live a good, long life, then you are welcome to join me. It seems like I won't be able to teach you anything within these walls and I urge you to act upon your instincts. Failing to do so will, eventually, be fatal." Her face lit up then and a warm, gentle smile appeared. "You are family Harry, never forget that. Your grandmother was a Black and you are the heir to the House. You are always welcome within the Black Clan."

"Leave now, Isla. I see this was a mistake."

"As you wish, Albus." she returned bitter-sweet. "But a mistake it was not. I daresay you never acted more in Harry's interest."

With that she quickly stood from the conjured couch and made her way to the door in fast steps. She nearly ripped the door from its hinges when she opened it with force and was about to leave when she turned around one last time and gave Harry a little lopsided grin. "It is not mine and it is not Albus' decision. It is yours, Harry." she said and with a giggle and a wink, she left.

She left behind a deeply confused Harry who had witnessed the exchange with silent awe. None of the two had noticed it seemed, but both had radiated power when they spoke in anger. It was as if Harry could see the magic surrounding them.

But then, when the initial surprise ebbed away, he played through what was spoken and immediately agreed that he was so not going to become a daywalker, if he interpreted that word right. He had two months of close to no sleep behind him and he was getting sick of it, both mentally as well as physically.

Before he could ponder on the other things said, Dumbledore sighed loudly and took a seat behind the headmasters desk. "I'm sorry Harry, but it seems I have miscalculated. I never thought Isla Black would ignore your best interests in order to gain more power within her own Clan."

"I found the things she said reasonable." Harry said quietly. He was still in thought and didn't meet the headmasters eyes, but he could almost feel the grandfatherly gentleness of them fade at Harry's words. He could smell anger in the headmaster and also some sort of fear, or rather, anxiety. Whatever it was, it told Harry to be cautious.

"It is of great importance, Harry, that you keep your rhythm to sleep in the night and wake at day..."

"Why?" interrupted Harry. "Because frankly, I feel like I'm about to fall over any time now. I didn't sleep well in weeks."

"Don't let your mind be corrupted by Lady Blacks words. It is a time of change for you and if you keep at it, you'll make it through. I believe in you, Harry."

Harry closed his eyes and sighed in exasperation. Wasn't that what he had heard the last month, over and over? They believed in him, they all said. But with the exception of three who had no fear of him and the headmaster who could, arguably, rip him apart with a flick of his wand, there was no one who believed in close proximity to him. No, within a range of ten meters, everybody tended to loose faith.

But he had promised Sirius and Remus, and he would hold onto his word. So he just nodded and stood up. "Alright, headmaster."

With that he walked towards the door, but was stopped short.

"One more thing, Harry. It pains me to say this, but we had to arrange a separate bedroom for you to sleep in. Hogwarts has provided you with another room, accessible from the Common Room."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Harry returned, anger and frustration evident in his voice. "At least I won't be disturbed while lying awake in bed. Good night, headmaster." he said with venom and left an exhausted Dumbledore alone in his office. This had gone pear-shaped faster than the old wizard had anticipated.

***Countess***

While Albus Dumbledore mused over his options and future plans, scolded himself for not expecting Black to use this opportunity he provided, Harry went to the Gryffindor Common Room in the longest possible way, taking some secret passages and other, more commonly known shortcuts.

Several times during his walk through the castle he thought about spending the night outside of his bed, roaming the corridors and maybe exploring a bit. The moon called for him and ignoring it was harder than he imagined.

The other, nearly as consistent thought was what Isla Black had said before she left. She had called him family and offered him a place among the vampires. 'Among my kind' he added in his mind and didn't stop himself thinking like that, now that he had witnessed first hand how a crowd of humans reacted to him. Just as Remus had warned him. Like sheep when they see a wolf.

He hated this so much. The mere thought of roaming around the cities of Britain at night, alongside fellow vampires, almost dragged him outside the castle, never to be seen again by the headmasters eyes. On the other hand, he couldn't disappoint Sirius and Remus.

When the moon was at its highest point, he settled for the Common Room where he found a door that led to a medium sized bedroom with a four-poster bed and a small desk, barely enough to write on. There were no windows in the room and the only light came from a torch that hung next to the door to an even smaller bathroom.

Harry's trunks was in front of the bed. He changed his clothes and lay down in the soft cloth, just to stay awake in frustration, with a longing and a nagging voice in his head that told him that Isla Black was probably still at Hogsmeade.

Isla Black. Harry didn't know what to think of her. Her beauty was out of this world, but the way she interacted with Dumbledore betrayed her actual age. She must know him for a long time by now to speak on such an equal basis with him.

And her point stood true, no matter how hard Harry tried, just for the sake of argument, to find holes in her words. Yes, he was a vampire. Yes, he was exhausted and wished to just sleep through the day. No, he did not want to become a daywalker. The way she had said the word, and the implications it entailed, plus his own experience with the sun's torture were enough for Harry to know that this wasn't a fate he was willing to endure.

Harry just lay in his bed, watching the ceiling and contemplating his options. There weren't many, if he was honest with himself. There was Hogwarts. A life of hardship and loneliness that promised not much beyond staying in an environment he had grown accustomed to and a solid education.

Then there was this woman, probably waiting for him in Hogsmeade. This woman who seemed to consider him family. He knew how easily that could be a trap. It wasn't really a secret that family was something he craved. In addition, it was Sirius' family no less.

Albus Dumbledore or Isla Black? Pretending to be human or standing true to his new life? Known hardship or unknown adventure?

"Why am I even thinking about this?" Harry exclaimed frustrated. Of course there was but one option. One option that held promise to make _him_ happy. It would break many hearts and even more bonds of trust. It would shake the very foundation of some plans against Harry's nemesis. But then, once and for all, it held the potential to make _him_ happy.

With new found energy, Harry changed back into his robes, flung the pajamas into his trunk and with a loud thud shut it close. Shrinking it didn't work at his first attempt. His vampire magic was still something he had problems controlling accurately. But at the third try, the trunk finally shrunk to pocket-size and it found a place on the insides of Harry's robes.

He grabbed his wand and breathed one more time, going over what he had decided on.

Leave the Common Room, run down to the Womping Willow, take the passageway to the Shrieking Shack, meet Isla Black in Hogsmeade if she's still there. If not... well, he had never been good at Plan B.

One more sharp breath and he was off. He had to hold himself back with his will alone to not sprint through the portrait and wake it up.

With a fast pace, silent for his vampire muscles made his steps soft and smooth, he walked through the corridors and descended the steps quickly. He paid close attention to the smells and sounds around him. Somewhere in the halls was Mrs. Norris and he smelled the caretaker, Filch, not far from her. There was also the sound of water flowing through the pipes and the whispers of ghosts that echoed through to his ears on a very special frequency.

It took him longer than he had anticipated to reach the door that lead through the greenhouse gardens and to the Whomping Willow. He opened it and the scent of grass and a myriad of other plants streamed into him. The moon above greeted him like a father greeted his child and encouraged Harry in his decision. This was where, or better, when he belonged. Under the moon, free from shackles of obligations.

But then reality took a brutal grasp on his mind as he heard the voice of Dumbledore next to him, standing between greenhouses.

"I'm disappointed in you, Harry. One would think that after all this time, you would not betray us so easily."

Without his senses, Harry would have thought that the headmaster was calm. But immense anger streamed in the veins of the old wizard, mixed with the magical power of a great warlock. It made Harry shiver with fear at the thought of being exposed to such power.

It took all his willpower, but Harry refused to remain stunned at place. He slowly moved away from Dumbledore and tried his hardest to make out his surroundings. Sure enough, he found the scent of potions and dungeons behind him, approaching fast. Then the scent of parchment, black tea and cat-hair. Finally, the scent of earth and fertilizer, mixed with the smell of half-human blood. Snape, McGonagall and Hagrid.

"Here to catch me?" he shouted over the greenhouses. He felt their steps coming to a halt. "Yeah, I smell you! I feel your steps and I can sense your intentions."

"We just want your best, Harry." came from Dumbledore. It made Harry even angrier and even more afraid at how calm he spoke, even though his blood boiled.

But Harry refused to bow. His exhaustion and frustration were just too much to hold back. "The best? Really, Professor, you want what is best for me?" With every words, Harry searched for escape routes. Snape and McGonagall now moved slower, while Hagrid stood frozen in place. But either way, the paths were blocked. The only way was back into Hogwarts.

He didn't even bother to keep speaking, he just jumped back over the threshold and sprinted as fast as he could. He could hear some commands being shouted by Dumbledore, but paid them no attention. Again he heard Hermione's voice in his head and it laughed at how quick Plan A had failed.

His steps carried him through the Entrance Hall were he dodged three quick stunners from someone who reeked of firewhiskey and old leather – Moody. He didn't even glance back at the old Auror, just ran up a flight of stairs, taking three steps at a time.

The stairs moved out of place and he found himself in need to jump. With a leap of faith, he sprung at the edge of where the stairs led just seconds before. A yellowish spell hit the railing next to him. His cue to move faster, more effective and finally get a goal into sight.

"DON'T HURT HIM YOU IMBECILE!" echoed the angered voice of McGonagall through the halls.

Harry ran faster and faster, to a point where even his vampire muscles protested from extensive use. He practically flew through the corridors by now, always on the lookout for an escape route until a rather stupid plan went through his mind. Through the windows of the corridor, he saw the lake, at least seven levels beneath the castle. He stopped in front of one and in his head the thoughts rushed through him. Jump, run, surrender?

 _Jump._

With a mighty leap he jumped out of the window and into the cool night. Once again he saw the moon and something exhilarating flew through his emotions. He turned around in mid air and Harry stretched out his body, his arms in front of his head. It felt like an eternity to Harry in which he flew through the air, head first towards the water.

His hands broke the surface and with a loud splash, he entered the dark depths. Cool water entwined his body and even his vampiric eyes needed time to get a feel for the light in the water. He decided to wait beneath the surface for any spellfire to hit. When he saw no flashes of light at the surface, he swum back up to take a deep breath.

In the distance he could see Hogsmeade. It would be a long and exhausting swim, but Harry was determined. He just hoped that the Grindelows wouldn't bother him and the Merpeople hat better things to do than capture Harry for Dumbledore. So he begun to slowly swim through the otherwise calm lake towards the promising lights at the other end of the long, stony beach.

He could hear voices shout in the castle and see many windows fill with light. It seemed like they hadn't seen him jump. The shouts differed from angry to nervous, to downright despairing.

As he so swum through the cold water, Harry began to feel the anger at the true face of the headmaster. The last few minutes he had felt like a fox, hunted by pack of dogs, with Dumbledore riding after them on his triple-damned high horse.

It took half an hour until he was at about the half of his way to Hogsmeade. Exhausted and frozen to the bone, harry decided to swim to the edge of the water and run the rest of the way.

There was no use in him freezing to a statue and then being captured by the Giant Squid.

When he reached the beach, he let just barely more than his eyes and nose look out of the water. He scanned the area for signs of life or any scent that didn't belong. When he found nothing unusual in the mix of water, grass and late-summer air, he emerged from the water and quickly made his way to the small village by foot.

A quick drying charm and some reorientation later, Harry jogged to his destination from cover to cover. Bush after bush and tree after tree he came closer to Hogsmeade. His feet carried him, almost instinctively towards Madam Rosmerta's Three Broomsticks. The pub he had loved to visit with Hermione and Ron became now his first choice to look for Isla Black.

Cautious and without any sound he looked inside the pub. It was just a small chance, but it would've been just too good a coincidence if she'd just sit in the pub. But of course, the Lady Black did not mingle with mortals.

Harry was about to turn around and look somewhere else when he saw the chimney fire burn in green flames and Dumbledore walking out of the embers.

"Oh, by all things..." Harry began to curse. He turned around and ran through the streets when the crack of apparition sounded through the night and the from of Severus Snape appeared before him.

"Arrogant as ever. Did you honestly believe that you could escape? You have a role to play, Mr. Potter and you will play it." the potion master drawled, his enjoyment of the situation evident in his voice. He raised his wand and without a word, ropes flew from it.

Harry barely dodged them and drew his own wand, a spell on his lips, when a blue spell hit him in the ribs. It pressed the air out of his lungs and for a second, Harry thought he would black out. His robes were destroyed and with dread Harry found his shrunken trunk burnt to ashes. The Marauders Map, his Invisibility Cloak, his Firebolt and the photos of his parents... gone. He barely felt the burning on his skin through the shock at the loss of his most valuable possessions.

Alastor Moody came from the direction of the spell, his gaze the same he wore whenever he fought Death Eaters. His natural and his artificial eye were fixated on Harry and the next spell was already on his lips. With a flick of his wand, a orange spell shot at Harry. Harry couldn't dodge and so it hit him square in the chest where it began to burn him like sunlight.

His legs gave way and with a scream of pain Harry sunk onto the cobblestone street. He could feel the spell burning through his skin and tried to direct his wand to the point. But his arms cramped and his tendons tensed and relaxed uncontrollably. He lost his wand. A wail of despair and anger escaped his throat as he saw his Phoenixfeather and Holly wand roll away from his grasp.

Another spell hit him, but this time it negated the searing orange spell on his chest.

"ALASTOR! ARE YOU COMPLETELY OUT OF YOUR MIND?!" roared McGonagall over the streets.

"The boys got it comin'." was the simple answer from Moody. "The spell got the job done. I reckon we..."

But Moody couldn't speak anymore as countless spells fired at the Auror and the teachers from all sides of the streets. A firework of dozens and dozens of spells lit up the night. Harry could see Moody and Snape dodging most of them, shielding against another barrage, but finally succumbing to one or two spells that hit. McGonagall immediately fell to a stray Stupor. The old Auror got hit with what Harry could only describe as a explosive hex that sent him flying against the edge of a house where he slumped down onto the ground, groaning in pain. Snape was better at dodging spells, but ultimately got his right foot cut open. He lost his balance and before he could muster the strength for another shield, a red stunner met his forehead. The potion master fell over, unconscious. Silence was behind him and the only one still standing, as far as Harry could sense, was the headmaster.

"Harry! I knew you would make the right decision."

A long, heavy breath escaped Harry at the sound of Isla Blacks voice. Tears ran over his cheeks and he began to laugh like a madman. Plan B had worked, even though it had cost him much.

Through the tears he saw vampires surrounding the area. Every single one of them had his wand leveled at the headmaster, who stood stoic in front of the Three Broomsticks, desperate for something to do.

"Now, now... Albus, I see you stand true to your ways. Shooting the Helios curse at a vampire? I was sure you had your Auror trained better than that."

"Lady Black. I see you have anticipated this?" Dumbledore asked, not even trying to hide his anger this time. Harry was feeling the atmosphere around the headmaster ripple as his magic flared.

"At first, no. But after I have seen the poor boy in your office, I have definitely expected it." she said. Her voice was unwavering in the presence of the powerful wizard. "Harry? Can you stand up and come over here?"

Unable to speak, Harry just nodded and forced his body up. His chest still burned from the spell and when he looked down on it, he saw his skin, black and burnt, hanging from his ribs. It nearly made him retch in disgust. The smell of it clouded his senses. Slowly, limb for limb, he got up and then stood, wavering and struggling for balance, not ten meters in front of the headmaster.

He had never seen the so often kind and understanding wizard in this state. The tip of Dumbledore's wand blazed up with sparks of magic, the air around him seemed to burn and beneath him the cobblestone seemed to tremble from the sheer power that was barely held back. All was nothing against the murderous glare in the headmasters eyes. Gone was every bit of kindness. It got replaced with loathing and rage that twisted the mans face in an grimace Harry was sure he would never forget.

Harry picked up his wand. He nearly fell over as he did so. With small steps he made his way to where the voice of Isla Black had come from. The beautiful vampire stood like a statue of a greek goddess in between two houses. Scrivenshafts and some private home. She had her hands opened wide for him and through the cloud of pain that threatened to encircle him, it was the only thing he saw.

When he reached her, two warm and soft hands enclosed him in a tight embrace. His head rested against her shoulders while Isla Black cooed soft words in his ears, ensuring him that he was safe. He couldn't keep standing, his legs gave up, but her strong arms kept him from falling.

When he thought he could fall into her embrace his thoughts were disrupted by angry shouts, wands blazing with spells and the sight of the focused power of Albus Dumbledore.

The spell on his wand shone brightly with the flames of a thousand suns. The curses of the vampires vanished when they touched the shield around the warlock. His mouth whispered incantations and Harry felt himself be twirled around in an failed attempt at side-by-side apparition.

With a shout of frustration, Isla shoved Harry into the hands of a nameless vampire beside her. With fury she turned around, her wandpoint towards the headmaster.

"Morgmogos!" she shouted and a dark red spell shot from her wand. With a explosion, red like the spell and bright orange like Dumbledores shield, the spell crashed into the headmasters defenses.

For a short time, loud chanting could be heard from inside the bubble. "...Humilitier majestati gloriae tuae supplicamus..."

Harry was barely able to see the scene through his exhaustion, pain and teary eyes, but he could clearly see the old wizard standing there like a boulder, unmoving in a rain of spells, chanting undisturbed as if the vampires fired Stinging Hexes at him.

Isla Black shouted commands Harry couldn't understand, but nothing seemed to help. The vampires who tried to attack the headmaster head on, were punished with a intense force against their bodies. Huge burns were visible on their limbs as they crawled away from where they attacked.

Some of the vampires tried to apparate and others waited desperately for orders from Black. The vampire Lady stood frozen in place, her eyes on a search for something, anything to do. She fired spell after spell against the headmasters defenses, but instead of becoming weaker, the shield became stronger and brighter. "Morgmogos! Ferfal! Flax! Levathi!" she shouted. The dark-red spell shot against the shield, followed by a blue one that just vanished and a grey spell, formed like boomerangs that split the earth around the headmaster, but didn't even penetrate the shield. The last one shot black as darkest night and exploded like shrapnel.

Dumbledore merely reacted by moving the corners of his mouth slightly up while he kept chanting. By now some of the vampires ran for it, away from the warlock that threatened to destroy them with a mysterious spell. "Cowards!" Isla Black hissed. However, her own face showed her desperation.

Harry watched helpless as the spell of Dumbledore took form. A white sphere, glowing like the sun itself, had formed at the point of his wand. The sight alone made Harry's eyes hurt. It produced intense heat and he felt the same sensation as when he faced the sun. It made him even weaker, fragile and held the promise of a death in flames.

But instead of the desperation from before, a evil grin was plastered on Isla Blacks face as she lifted her wand and with a flick of it she pointed at the unconscious form of Professor McGonagall. The headmaster couldn't react before the old and stern teacher flew into the hands of Isla Black. Her wand was pressed against McGonagalls temple, the threat obvious. "Stop this, Albus! Stop this now or I'll end her!"

The triumphant smirk on Dumbledores face vanished, his spell didn't.

"I will kill your precious pet, Albus! Stop this madness immediately!"

Still, no reaction from the headmaster. The only thing changing, the only movement was the violent glow of the pulsating orb of light.

Harry was in a delirium. His chest burned and his head fought with unconsciousness. When asked later, he wouldn't know how to describe what he thought or why he did what he did. But in the moment, he knew that Albus Dumbledore was desperate. He knew the old man better than most wizards and witches in Britain. He knew what made the twinkle in his eyes vanish and he knew what made it glow. Harry had been target and executor of Albus Dumbledore's expectations, hopes and plans. So he knew that there was not much that would break the old wizards concentration.

So he freed himself from the nameless vampires hands. Harry stumbled forward, to where Isla Black held an incapacitated McGonagall hostage. The deputy and Albus Dumbledore's confidante. His first lieutenant and sturdy, unwavering comrade.

Harry didn't know afterwards why he bit her, deep into her artery where her blood waited for him to be drunk. He felt magic swirl around him, through his fangs and into the deputy headmistress. He didn't know why he did it, but it had the desired effect.

Albus Dumbledore lost all life in his face. The chanting stopped and he stared with shock in the black and green eyes of his former hope. Harry Potter hung on the neck of McGonagall and from his fangs and her body streamed blood in thick lines.

The shield lost in color and the orb of light at his wand began to shiver, then loose form and finally vanished from sight without doing whatever it would have done.

Harry felt the eyes of everybody fixating him as he sucked the blood from the deputy headmistress. It cleared his head and numbed the pain with its intoxicating taste. Minerva McGonagall's blood was as delicious as the finest steak, smelled better than the fumes of perfectly brewed Amortentia and offered him strength.

In return he filled her with his magic. Harry felt it corrupt her veins, her skin and bones. It moved with the bloodstream into her organs and limbs. It saturated her brain and her heart and consumed her from the inside out. There was darkness spreading in her magic. An all consuming blackness that slowly began to change her.

Isla Black looked at the young man, hanging onto the old woman's throat and damned the gods. With Harry alone, there would've been much to do. Now there was another to care for. But Isla would worry about this at a later time. She had felt the apparition wards collapse as clearly as she felt the old mans magic tremble in limbo between anger and disbelieve. Somewhere in her heart she could feel pity and maybe even empathy for the old wizard who just lost both his Chosen One and his most loyal follower.

Soft was her voice as she spoke to Dumbledore and strong was it, but Isla made sure that her true feelings for the headmaster couldn't be misunderstood. "This didn't have to happen, Albus. But you are truly the same fool you were all those years back. It was the same with Gellert. The same with Riddle. The same with my niece! You are..." She didn't continue, but ended in a soft sigh of resignation.

"Anyway..." Isla Black said. "You had your chances with him. Farewell, Albus."

With a crack and the known sensation of apparition, Harry disappeared from Hogsmeade where a beaten Albus Dumbledore watched as a small troop of vampires vanished in the darkness.

Where exactly he landed, Harry didn't see. His vision was blurred and he felt his consciousness slowly fade. Despite all the blood he had drunk, he was still weak and could barely move. The only thing he sensed was the tight embrace of Isla Black as she carried him into a room. He felt soft, silken cloth caress his body as he was lain onto a bed and hasty hands treating him with a paste of sorts. It cooled his chest and filled his nose with the faint scent of blood and lavender. It stung as his chest began to heal, but Harry didn't care. His vision blurred further, his senses failed to work and finally, his eyes fell shut.

Finally, he found sleep.

***Countess***

 **Well, this was a long one. I'm glad its done. I fought with every bit of this chapter and writing it was more of a chore than joy. Anyway, Harry is now with his kind, the Black Clan and we can finally dive into vampire culture.**


	5. Chapter 5

**2\. September 1996**

The asphalt under her feet was still hot from the sun. The air around her full of the scent of blooming flowers, wheat and the muddy odor of a slowly running river that cut through the fields around her. The moon, still hanging close to the horizon, shone in its silver light that allowed her to roam the earth. In front of her, running for his life, was a young farmer boy.

Whenever he was a bit too far away, just a meter beyond her noses range, she would apparate to his side. "Demon!" he would scream in panic, infusing his blood with delicious adrenaline. His hands held a small cross that hung as a trinket on a golden chain. It radiated light and when she had touched it the first time by accident, it had burned her.

That made Hermione curious.

Whenever he begged Jesus or God himself for help, Hermione felt how his scent got a bit weaker, his outlines a bit harder for her to see and the sound of his boots on the hot asphalt a bit harder to hear. At some level it frustrated her greatly that such a insignificant thing was able to hurt her, even if it was barely more than a light burning on her skin. Something that healed in matters of seconds. On a whole different level it fascinated her greatly.

Once more she apparated to his side and the farmer boy screamed in terror. He stumbled and fell. He still held the cross to his chest and so he planted his face on the asphalt without hands to stop the impact. Shallow wounds got ripped into his skin by the gravel on, and the rough surface of the street. A taste of copper streamed in his mouth and when he wanted to wail, he realized that he had bitten his tongue. He was paralyzed in fear of the dark creature standing above him, eying him with hunger and devilish delight. There was no doubt in his mind, and neither was there any in his heart. Lucifer, Beelzebub, the Lightbringer – the devil had come to get him. The devil stood above him in the form of a beautiful woman with eyes straight from the deepest circles of hell. Her body was clad in teared rags and the remains of normal, red knickers. She stunk of blood and rotting flesh and when she growled at him with the sounds of demons ascending, her teeth and... and her fangs, shone yellow with the remains of her last meal stuck in the gaps.

It was then that deep inside the monster, born from curiosity, a spark of something the monster had believed dead shone again. It was small and it was feeble, but it was there and it kept the monster from its meal.

The small spark within her fought the urge to kill, drink and eat. The farmer boys blood clouded her senses. There was only his blood, rich with adrenaline and the scent of hearty meals. He was healthy, young and full of trained muscles. His biceps and upper legs were massive piles of flesh, strong and formed on fields and hard farm work. He would make such an amazing meal, especially this early in the night. But the pesky, little spark held her back.

It was much more interested in the trinket and what it did. Why did it do these things? Why did it burn her skin and how come it channeled magic, even if the boy was a muggle?

What was it? She didn't know.

The spark, however, remembered. A cross, a catholic one at that. The boy was a christian. Did that mean god, or gods in general, were real? So very interesting, the spark noted.

So very unsatisfying, grumbled something within her. The part that needed flesh and blood, violence and torture to function. The part that held dominion over this body. How dare this body to think these things? How dare it to wait when the orders were given? Kill him! Drink and eat from him!

But she couldn't move as the spark held her back and fixated her gaze onto the small, golden cross in the boys grasp.

She knelt down next to him. When he tried to crawl away, an angry hiss paralyzed him again. Her hands, red from old, dried up blood and filthy with dirt took his hands and pulled them away from his chest as if she'd move small twigs. The cross lay on his chest and with a quick move, she grabbed it, pulled at the golden necklace which broke immediately at the boys neck.

A small pillar of smoke came from her hands and she felt the skin in her hand be scorched by it. Not too hard, not to severe. When she concentrated on it, she could easily counter-heal the burning to the point of not even feeling it.

"How... very... interesting." she breathed, her eyes now completely away from the boy. "Do you believe?" she asked him.

He didn't answer. His breath went fast and Hermione could hear his heart pumping miles per minute. He was covered in his sweat and nearly wetting himself in fear.

When he had yet to answer after nearly half a minute, Hermione concentrated on his throat and willed her magic to lift him up at it. The gurgle coming from him told her that she was, once again, successful with her new found powers. She let him hover next to her, close to her face. So close that she could feel the air coming from his lungs.

"I asked you something." she asked in a deadpan tone that made the spine of the poor farmer boy tremble. "Do you believe?"

"I- I- I- I-believe in God, the F-F-Father alm-mighty, creator of h-h-h-heaven and earth." he stuttered. Tears rushed down his face and his hands tried to get a grip on the force that held his throat up in the air. "I believe in Jesus Christ, his only... urgh... his only Son... argh!" he croaked.

When Hermione felt the air becoming short in his lungs, she let go of him. She knew what she wanted to. "Highly interesting... indeed."

***Countess***

Remus Lupin was waiting anxiously for the arrival of the Greyfog wolves. They were late. He had apparated to Glasgow, and stood before a small pub in the outskirts of the city. It was rather run down and the patrons leaving and entering completed the image with their haunted looks and cheap clothes. By now he had waited over half an hour for the wolves to arrive. He understood that they had to act with caution, but this was ridiculous.

The sounds of apparition filled the air. With a exasperated sigh, he turned around. But the froze immediately when he saw the figure walking in the middle of the street.

Hermione.

Remus shuffled deeper into the shadows and hoped, prayed that the girl didn't notice him in the amalgamation of odors coming from the outlets of the greasy pub and the homes around it. But he couldn't let her out of his sight. This was it. They had searched for her for weeks now, and just like that she apparated in front of his nose. Remus wasn't sure if he was the luckiest or the most unfortunate man in the world.

From the shadows he took a good look at his former student as she strut slowly through the lights of the streetlamps. Her eyes were the first thing he saw and he felt himself cower before them. They were nearly completely red, blood-red, and in them was nothing even remotely human. At the sight before him, he remembered the letter he had gotten from the Chieftess after his first report.

 _The Countess will fight with the darkness. She will be overwhelmed with it until she is nothing more than a wild animal and lost to the cause. Our time runs short, my pup. We must help her find equilibrium before its too late._

Remus wondered if their time has run out by now. Even if his werewolf senses were far below what a vampire had, he was sure that even a human would be able to smell the stunk of blood, sweat and rotting flesh on the girl. Her body was covered in old blood and her hair was unkempt, in knots and had a dark red coloring. Her clothes were little more than rags, held together by a few, last, sturdy strings. It was obvious that she just didn't care, probably didn't even realize how she looked and smelled.

Her walk was slow, but determined. It reminded Remus of the way animals on the top of the food chain walked. They had nothing to fear, had to report to no one. Where they walked, others moved to the side, or fled in an attempt to save their lives.

Hermione stopped in front of the pub, and with iron expression looked through the window. She seemed to look for something, or someone. She spent a few minutes, analyzing the inside of the pub. Minutes in which Remus felt his heart pumping against his throat, every breathe a challenge. He felt the raw power roll off of her. It saturated the air around her, made lights flicker and some small pebbles on the street float a few inches in the air.

Then it happened, out of the blue, with no warnings. She hadn't even drawn a wand. She just moved her hands in one swift motion. The windows broke into a thousand shards as a man flew through them. His body got cut all over.

With a loud thud and a shout of pain the man landed on the street. He bowed his back and Remus could see a huge shard sticking in his side. Blood streamed from the wound and Remus was sure that in the next moment he'd witness Hermione devour the poor lad.

Shouts of surprise and anger came from the pub. A swift move of her hands through the air. Screams of pain and anguish. Then there were no more human sounds coming from the pub, only the soft music from a radio behind the bar. Remus witnessed as the patrons fell from their chairs or slumped down onto the bar, dead. Just like that she had killed at least seven people while the eighth waited on the street, still moaning in pain.

The eighth was unaware of what had happened until Hermione stood above him. His moaning ended, his pain all forgotten in the face of terror itself.

Remus already readied himself to see unimaginable slaughter. He had seen most of the corpses Hermione had left and could just imagine how they reached the state in which they found them.

But she did nothing the like. Instead she bowed down, her hands looking twisted, crooked with her nails long, thick and sharp as eagles claws. Slowly she bowed down and took something from the mans chest. Remus could barely make it out, but in the dim light he recognized the form of a wooden, christian cross, hanging on a silver chain as a trinket. Silver! How could she even touch it? Remus felt the metals magic threatening him with its purity even here. She touched it, completely ignoring that by now it should have burned through her hands like acid. Let alone the cross. Why didn't it set her hands aflame?

His thoughts were quickly interrupted by the voice of Hermione, vibrating in the silence of the night. It was not a growl and certainly not aggressive. It was clear, without pressure. Her voice was so neutral, out of anyone else' mouth it would've sounded like they spoke of the weather. From her it was a certain death-threat. All of her, her body, her voice, her magic, was.

"Do you believe in this god?" she slowly asked.

The man beneath her didn't, probably couldn't move. His pants got an darker shade around his crotch as he wet himself in fear. His body shivered and no pain gained from the shards in his body was able to free him of his stun.

Remus was about to flee. He felt his knees become weak, his breathing become narrow and his mind was all but clouded with fear and one primal instinct begging him to run. But there was another feeling. One he had felt when dealing with Dumbledore. One he had felt again when he swore allegiance to the Chieftess. It was a feeling that told him to stay, kneel and do as ordered. It was a sense of hierarchy, not like in the Packs or the Order. No, it was much like the wish of a lowly creature to obey its alpha. Remus was aware enough of himself and his mind that he knew it was magic induced, this feeling. It was like a Veela's magic towards men, or like a Succubus' magic towards a lonely soul. But still, he couldn't help himself. So he stayed, not wanting to go near her while also not wanting to leave her side.

Cracks of apparition sounded from behind him and with dread he checked if Hermione had recognized it. The faint move of her head told him that she had. However she refocused onto the cross in her hand, clearly not interested in something that reeked of fear. Why? He could only guess.

"Its... her..." came the faint whisper from behind him. Remus turned around to see a feral looking woman with blonde braided hair and golden eyes that he recognized immediately. She was the aggressive counselor that had all but jumped at his throat. But her expression was anything but angry right now. Admiration, longing and something Remus would consider a dazed look was on her face while her gaze was fixated on the form of Hermione Granger. She walked closer towards Hermione, cautious and bowing in submission.

Remus did not have a good feeling about this. His hands stretched out to hold her, but even at a slight touch, her guttural growl made him take back his hand.

She walked, step for step, closer to Hermione. The werewolf woman came out of the shadows, already bowed in submission. Another step and then another. Her heels crushed the shards on the streets and the cracking sounds drew an dreadful atmosphere around the scene.

The distance at which she stopped was one of respect, but not fear. Her stance one of admiration, not submission. She looked at Hermione and Remus saw, against all his prayers, that Hermione had took notice of her. Her red eyes glowed with the promise of a quick, but nonetheless painful, death.

***Countess***

The cross in her hand was wooden. She wasn't sure if this was important or not, but she made a note in her head. It was not like the gold of the farmers boy's.

 _The boy I should have killed! I needed his blood! He runs free! He has escaped ME! NOBODY ESCAPES ME!_

Disregarding the screams in her head, Hermione focused back on the item in her hands. The wooden cross on the silver necklace. Silver. Silver was the metal of purity and should have much more effect on her than the metal of greed. Gold was nothing of concern to any creature, while silver should at least burn her. Highly... highly interesting. Wood, on the other hand, did nothing against anything as far as the materials magic goes. Indeed, while a living tree could be used in a ritual against her, dead wood is...

 _ENOUGH! I need to kill him, rip him apart! What am I doing?! I! NEED! HIS! BLOOD!_

Saliva ran together in her mouth at the thought of the meal before her. His fear was even greater than the farmer boy's. His blood was so rich in adrenaline, her nostrils flared at the mere smell. His veins were filled with the delicious red liquid, slightly spiced up by his light intoxication.

Then again, why exactly didn't the silver burn her skin? Was it something she did, or was it something the man underneath her did? He was a muggle, so chances for that were rather low. But still...

A smell flew across her nose. It was an odd one with many different notes in it. For one, it was a scent of someone akin to her, a dark creature. If this would have been the only thing to notice, she would have disregarded the creature already. Many creatures of the night had gathered around her when she ate, eager to feast on the scraps. Grindylows, crows and ravens, acromantulas and ghouls felt her presence and knew that food awaited when they just followed her path. Hermione didn't mind.

However, the scent that mixed into this was one she knew all too well. Remus Lupin.

 _I need to kill him. Fucking traitor and coward. His blood smells repulsive, werewolf, but I don't need to feast on him. Just need to tear him apart limb from limb._

But then again. She would have her vengeance. There was no need to hurry and for what its worth, there was a certain delight to be gained from his horror. And compared to the riddle in front of her, her thoughts of revenge were feeble. They would all burn for their failure to stand by her when she needed them. They would all feel her wrath, eventually.

But the man before her had just so much blood, just so much energy in him. Here, she needed to hurry to get what she wanted.

"Do you believe in this god?" she asked, eyes fixated on the man. He didn't answer, but in his looks the truth was obvious. He did not. In fact, Hermione smelled his fear taking over, taking from him the control over his body.

It made the spark within her wonder how she looked right now.

Hermione closed her eyes as the headache within her grew. The small spark of light fought bravely against the screaming and wailing voices in her head. Voices who now, bipolar as ever, begged and ordered her to kill the man before her. She wanted it, she knew. She needed his blood, his flesh. But she also needed answers. She needed to know. Hermione winced slightly at the pain right underneath the skin of her temples. It was where the voices sat and tried to control her.

 _This is what I get when I don't kill. Pain. Pain is all I have, unless others feel it._

Hermione was about to unleash her hunger. She already moved her claws over the soft and fat belly of the man. She would focus on the limbs of the man. Once again, the lard in him would make the meal sub-par. She would pierce him in his chest, this time. It made them gurgle so deliciously and she had made the experience that a slow death infused the flesh with one last wave of ever so tasteful adrenaline.

"Its... her..." came a new voice from the same alley Lupin stood in. Hermione had heard the distinctive crack of apparition and had assumed that her former professor had finally left the scene. Instead, another werewolf had arrived. She smelled just as much of wolf as Lupin. Her blood was repulsive, so far from being human and her flesh was inedible for her, just like that of every other dark creature. But she didn't show fear. Instead a wave of euphoria tainted her scent. Her skin was giving off a scent of artificial coconut, most likely from a soap and around her neck, a parfum made of roses deformed her natural scent. In other words, she peeked Hermione's interest. Werewolf weren't supposed to smell good. They normally reeked of poverty while this one nearly stunk of wealth. It came from her clothes and from the way she moved.

Not satisfied with just the information her nose gave her, Hermione lifted her head so that her eyes could glare at the new person. She was rather beautiful with a twisted aura of animal around her. She had to give it to the woman. Just a few weeks back, Hermione would have been terrified. Now, however, the dangerous woman was in no way a threat.

She came closer to Hermione. Her steps were small and cautious on the glass covered street. Then, just a few meters before Hermione, she knelt, completely disregarding the sharp glass beneath her. Yes, this one was truly interesting.

"My Queen. I have finally found you."

Hermione let go of the cross in her hand, now completely focusing on the female werewolf before her. How had she called her? Why didn't she smell fear in her? Why wasn't this wolf running? Why did she kneel? "Who are you?" Hermione growled, her voice deep and demonic.

She smiled at the woman's reaction. There it was, the fear. She was uncertain now and the euphoria in her made way for something more dull. But she still knelt and she still gazed at Hermione in admiration. "I- I am..." she stuttered. But it wasn't fear that paralyzed her tongue, Hermione knew. It was nervousness. "I am – am Counselor Annemarie Lanzmann. I come from the Greyfog Packs."

"Are you one of those hunting me?" Hermione asked. Yes, this woman interested her. Her accent was german, her name as well. She claimed to be a counselor of sorts. She was a werewolf. How did that all fit together?

"NO!" the woman blurted. Her eyes were wide in shock and in the next moment, she bowed even deeper before Hermione. She smelled blood coming from the forehead and arms of the woman. It came from cuts she got frm the shards on the ground while bowing before Hermione as if she was a god. ' _Appropriate'_ the dark voices whispered.

"No, my Queen." she whispered. "We have looked for you, everywhere. We want you to take your place as our leader."

Hermione pondered the words. Leader? Queen? A creeping suspicion came to mind. What if the woman before her tried to trick her? Yes, Hermione was sure of it. It was but a trick to capture her. Dumbledore couldn't catch her like a rabid dog, now he had to lure her in.

 _'HOW DARE THIS BITCH?!'_

With a swish of her hand, the werewolf woman was smashed against a wall. Her bones broke at impact and the hit on her head knocked her out. She sunk to the floor like a puppet. It was obvious that the woman's spine was broken into pieces and several limbs hung in impossible angles from her body.

Hermione focused back on the man lying before her and saw that he was already unconscious from the loss of blood he endured. It was rather unsatisfying to not be able to see his eyes grow wide in shock when she killed him. The adrenaline was already less and less dominant in his blood and, being unconscious, he was also free of fear.

Instead of eating she redirected her gaze onto Lupin, who was waving his wand over the lifeless form of the female. Maybe she was his mate? Hermione could only guess and decided that it probably was like that. She felt the panic in him and heard the sloppy incantations of healing spells. He was too nervous to produce good enough spells and her bones he healed didn't mend completely.

Hermione stood up, slowly and with a certain grace. She would break his heart completely and steal from him the last chance to restore his mates. Yes, that sounded like music to her ears. It would break his mind before she would be breaking his body.

With slow steps she stepped closer to the two werewolves. The cracking of the glass beneath her feet brought Lupin's attention to her.

"Please, Hermione! She told the truth! We won't hurt you! We want to help you! Please!" the werewolf begged. Looking closer at him, Hermione saw the dark rings under his eyes being more pronounced than normal, his face gaunt and his eyes red from a lack of sleep.

Like before with the farmer boy, she concentrated on his neck and lifted him with her will alone. He gurgled as his lungs found no air to breathe through the tight grasp. She moved him closer to her, until he was just a few inches before her, and then dropped him before her feet. He broke down onto his knees, hissing because of the shards piercing his kneecaps.

"Help me? Isn't that what you failed to do already?" she growled out. Her hate added another layer to her voice, like an echo from a dark side world. It sounded through the street, producing whispering echos at every wall. "I will kill her and you will watch! Then I will let you beg for your life. And then - then I will kill you."

Lupin gasped at her words and her voice. She sounded nothing like before. Her voice was not from this world, but some darker, much darker place. His whole body trembled in horror. His eyes couldn't find a focus and everything around him was a blur. Her mere presence, the all devouring magic streaming off her body pinned him to the spot.

Suddenly he got an idea. It was risky, scratch that, it was absolutely mental, but it could work.

"Read my mind, Hermione! We want to help you! Please! The incantation is..."

"I don't need incantations." she drawled, not without pride. She had to admit, his idea had merit. Who knew, maybe he did say the truth? If not she could always just leave him a vegetable after destroying his mind. She chuckled at the idea. Yes, she would very much like that.

"Look at me!" she commanded him.

Slowly, shivering he looked up to her. His green eyes met the devilish red of hers and before he knew it, a brutal force smashed into him.

Hermione enjoyed ravaging his meager mental defenses. They were weak and under her assault, paper thin. Before anything else, she tore at his mind, filling it with just the worst memories of her last weeks.

' _THIS IS YOUR FAULT!'_ she screamed in his mind while pressing images of broken humans, severed limbs and the sound of her victims screams into his head. Remus Lupin wailed in pain and terror. Hermione laughed like mad. He would suffer. He would suffer so much and yet, he would be the one with the softest punishment. There was much worse to come for the likes of Dumbledore.

Remus' mind was chaos. Hermione didn't hold back, pushed all her pain and hate into him. He couldn't stand it. He wanted to claw his eyes out to make the pictures go away. He wanted to rip his ears off to silence the screams. But most of all, he wanted her prying, red and black eyes out of his head. She didn't even look around, she just stared into his very soul and laughed as his mind quickly descended into madness.

" _Look..."_ A picture of a child, torn apart somewhere in Cornwall _"...at..."_ A centaur, his torso severed from the horse body, screaming in pain. _"...truth!_ " he managed to press out in between the vision of Hermione's monstrous deeds.

Suddenly the visions stopped and he felt her mental eyes looking deeper into his mind. He could feel her watching more than he intended. She watched as he fell into alcoholism in his grief over James and Lily. She watched with delight the moments of suffering he had endured in his life. The inability to be there for Harry, Sirius' betrayal and the constant shaming of his werewolf existence. She watched as Dumbledore brought him the news that he would have to let him go as Defense teacher. She laughed madly at his feelings of disappointment and hurt.

Her laugh grew less when she saw his worries over Harry being a champion in the tournament. She was even less amused by the scenes showing him begging Dumbledore to do something, anything. Her eyes made a big jump, over a year, to the scenes in St. Mungos. She watched as he pleaded her case, defended her against the murderous intents of the rest of the Order. No, what he felt now was not her amusement, but something way more terrifying. He witnessed the image of an enemy forming in her mind.

Dumbledore would die a horrible, slow and painful death after watching everything he built, everyone he loved and every single one of his ideals burn to ashes. Remus saw her imagining the headmaster scream, impaled on a pike while standing on top of the dead Order. He saw the Ministry and all of Dumbledore's sycophants burning in the background, the skies black from smoke and the air full of the smell of burning corpses.

Then, finally, Hermione looked at the memories he tried to press towards her. The memories of his new allegiance, of the Chieftess and her promises. He showed her the Clans of the Triangle and the promises the Chieftess made for her.

"A Countess?" she asked idly, more to herself than to Remus. "This has... potential." she breathed into the air.

Then she began to giggle. Remus shook his head in disbelief. The most terrifying dark creature he had ever seen giggled. However, soon her giggles became chuckles, deep and malevolent. Her eyes still fixated on his mind as she saw the final memory. She saw the promises the Chieftess gave him and then she laughed. She laughed long and in her demonic voice that was so detached from the mortal world.

The magicks holding him in place went away and Hermione, still laughing, made her way to Annemarie. The female werewolf was still folded into a heap, her bones still broken.

Hermione loved what she had seen and done. Lupin would have nightmares for the rest of his life. A punishment for his past failures. But he had told her the truth and so she had let him keep his sanity. They really wanted to help her, guide her, serve her and most importantly, make her even more powerful. Yes, all of this was too good to let pass. Back in her mind, some paranoid voices were appeased by the possibility of just killing everyone should they betray her.

But she needed the female for this and so she walked towards the heap of flesh lying before her. She could still smell her heart beating, weak but still alive. Her breaths were shallow and she was as close to dying as one could be.

With a swish of her hand she willed her magic to mend the bones, close the wounds and numb the pain. The spine of the female rearranged itself, her nerves came back together and the many flesh wounds closed in a matter of seconds. Its actually surprised Hermione. She hadn't thought that she would be able to do Healing spells so effectively. Just one more thing to make a note of.

The female, Annemarie she remembered, moaned in pain. Her bones cracked and snapped into place when she moved. "Was issn paschiee?" she slurred, clearly not fully conscious.

With another swish of her hand, Hermione made the heart rate of the werewolf woman go faster and her lungs breathe deeply. Suddenly Annemarie sat straight as broom against the wall, her eyes wide open and staring at Hermione.

It took a while for her to register who she was looking at, but the moment she noticed, she slumped back into the bowing position from before. Her head touched the street beneath her, even though the position gave her pain. "Mu Quee..." She still slurred, but Hermione just shrugged. It would do for the moment.

"Get me to this Chieftess! Now!" Hermione commanded.

"Rig awa-y." the woman answered. She obviously tried to get back control over her tongue, but failed miserably. She stood up, her feet shaking. When she thought she had her balance, she walked towards Hermione only to fall flat on her face after a few steps.

"I- I- so sowwie." she whispered weakly. Hermione could feel her embarrassment. She obviously was a proud woman wherever she lived and not used to cower in the dirt, with no control of her tongue and legs that denied her service. But Hermione had to give her one thing, she was stubborn and will-strong. With her last strength she began to pull her body over the asphalt towards Hermione. She decided in this moment, that she very much liked the female werewolf. Maybe just as a pet, but she liked her nevertheless.

"Help her, Lupin!"

"Yes, Herm..."

"I thought I were your Queen? Why don't you address me as such?"

"Yes, my Queen."

He hasted towards the crawling Annemarie and with a slight touch he stopped her from crawling further. "The portkey, where is it?"

Annemarie didn't answer. She just touched one of her pockets, but was to weak to actually produce anything from them. Remus removed the iron ring from her robes. He lay Annemarie's hand on it, his own over hers and then held it out for Hermione to take.

"If this is a trap, Remus, I will slaughter every single german werewolf. Is that understood?"

Remus just nodded. Any other person and he would have thought in an blatant exaggeration. When Hermione said it, he believed it without a doubt. Considering the state she was in, he had no problem imagining her massacre an entire nation to prove a point. Somewhere in his mind, he wanted nothing more than to run back to the Order, make amends for his betrayal and leave this behind. But there was still the promise of him living a life in peace after this mission so he carried on. "Understood." he answered silently. "Bloodmoon." he said and with the password activated, the portkey took them all by the navel and sent them away from Glasgow, to someplace in Germany.

***Countess***

 **Alright. This one took a bit longer because as of now, I'm out of pre-written scenes. The chapters before had all, more or less, existed before I started to really begin writing the story.**

 **Anyway. I hope you liked this one. I'm not sure if I got the bipolarity of Hermione right, but this chapter certainly taught me that writing insane characters is very – very hard.**

 **Due to some PM's I received, heres a little update: This is not abandoned. The next chapter(s) are just incredibly hard to get right and have already been rewritten several times by now. Be patient and thanks for reading.**


	6. Chapter 6

The air was rich with the scent of wet soil, pine resin and the faint smokes of small pyres in steel cages. Around Hermione, huge, ancient trees stretched towards the sky, covering it from her view. Nothing but the orange of the flames illuminated the scene before her.

She didn't know what she had expected, Hermione had to admit. Some part of her was sure that the moment the portkey tunnel spit her out, she would have to slaughter several members of the Order. But even though her bloodlust was almost overwhelming, she held back. Those standing before her did not smell like anything she'd want to eat. They were dark creatures, all of them. Those before her also did not cower before her, but bowed their heads and knelt in the dirt.

"Your majesty," came a silent voice which echoed through the trees. It belonged to a oddly corporeal spirit. The only person not bowing or kneeling. His blue shining body was covered with robes that shone in similar light. The ghost had a long beard, artfully braided, and deep, dark eyes that met Hermione's gaze straight on.

When he stood a bit farther than arms reach of her, he bowed slightly and smiled at her. "The gods grace us with your presence, your majesty. It has been in the stars, that you would come to those faithful to..."

"Who are you?" she interrupted. Her own voice bested the faint one of the ghost with ease and echoed through the forest. Some of the weaker among the group around her bowed even deeper, the stronger averted their eyes.

The ghost seemed to skip an entire speech in his head before he finally answered. "I am Epiphanes, student of Platon and archiver of the Varangian Guard. It fell to me to greet you, should you arrive on this night." The ghost then turned around and gestured to the kneeling people around them.

"Those living and those dead you see around you are werewolves from the Hanse packs, spirits and wraiths from the Guard as well as vampires of the Novak Clan hailing from Leipzig. In the housing we have arranged for you, if you choose to accept them, representatives of the Hanse packs, the german Vampire Clans, the alpine hag covens, the sorcerer circles and many more stand ready, eagerly awaiting your command."

"I see," Her voice was weary in the face of such promises. "Take me to this house, then." she ordered the ghost, sure to remain cold and collected in her expression. The nagging voices in her head still screamed for her to dodge the trap and with every promise made, with more and more people kneeling to her, the situation smelled more and more like bait. Only her absolute conviction that she could destroy even the most powerful warlocks if she had to, made her move forward.

The ghost gestured to a pale man, a vampire, to hand him a metal ring. "Another portkey, your majesty."

"Another?"

"To cover your tracks, your majesty."

Hermione nodded, her head barely moving, searching for lies in the endless black of the spirits eyes. With a careful move of her hand she wrapped her fingers around the iron of the ring and let the unpleasant sensation of portkey travel wash over her again.

***Countess***

She was coming! After weeks of preparation, political maneuvering and exhausting meetings with all kinds of leaders, she would finally see her. The Bloodmoon was about to enter her new home.

Ute von Königsberg was running down the long path from the ritual site, to her own, magnificent mansion. It stood proudly at the side of the mighty Dachstein mountains, overlooking Hallstatt and the Hallstatt Lake in the middle of the austrian Alps. Any other day, she would walk slowly on this path, savoring the tastes, smells and the feeling, summoned by countless Celtic rituals and the sheer majesty of the surrounding nature.

But today she sprinted down the path of rubble and dirt. Not a minute before the portkey to the Schwarzwald was activated. Three people hung on it and were flung through the space between space to the remote ritual site within centaur territory. It would be mere minutes before the second portkey would activate, bringing Hermione Granger to the place the Chieftess has dedicated to the Bloodmoon's ascension. The great mansion, built in baroque style, with the territories of her own people, the creatures of the night, around it.

With a wave of magic she smashed the backdoors open. There were maids there, waiting with her robes, but Ute just waved them off. It would take at least ten minutes to put the complicated golden robes, the trinkets and jewelery and the rest of her regal outfit on. Instead she stayed in her ritualistic garments. She kept the interwoven trinkets in her blonde hair. Bark of old birches with elder futhark runes written on them. She kept the leather stripes that covered her breast and the rough leather and fur loincloth that covered her privates. The antlers of deer and the horns of young satyr clad her shoulders like armor. Deciding that she would truly welcome the Countess as the High Priestess of Fenris, she also kept her long staff made of oak with a tip made of quartz.

As she reached the Entrance Hall she was pleased that her maidens, servants and guards were already preparing the Hall. The marble shone polished and cleaned, the golden fittings on the furniture glistered in the light of the lusters that hung from the ceiling. Her guards straightened their black and gold uniforms and gave the emblem of the Hanse Packs on their chests a last polish.

"The stones! Bring them!" she barked at one of the maidens. The young girl abandoned whatever task she was working on and rushed towards a little antechamber from where she brought two small, eerily glowing stones. She tried to hand them to the Chieftess, but Ute just waved them off.

"Stay next to me. Hold them." she commanded. It wouldn't do to become the prey of the Countess, should she already have acquired a taste for the stones contents. All her research pointed her towards the opinion that the Bloodmoon couldn't find this out by herself, but one didn't become Chieftess of the most powerful werewolve packs of Europe by trusting chance. So the maiden would unfortunately have to be sacrificed if things went south.

Her thought were brought back from her musing when the door creaked open. The guards snapped to attention and the maidens and servants bowed deeply. The door opened further and through it stepped the ancient spirit Epiphanes. The one that followed him was first covered in shadow, but the Chieftess' senses were already sending her warnings and made her body tense up to react as quickly as possible. Slowly the figure clad in shadows walked towards the light. It was her.

The Countess was clad in rags and old, dried blood. Her hair was a mess and her face gaunt. She looked like a beggar, filth, really. But nobody would have even dared to speak to her as if she was trash. The guards became nervous and the maidens bowed deeper. One of the servants even scurried away, shaking in fear. The Countess' black claws were only bested in their awe- and fear-inspiring aura by her blood red eyes.

Ute von Königsberg was amazed by what she saw. The aura, the feelings she had when standing before her; they were exactly like the stories of old told. She shook not from fear, but from her own joy. There was a long way to go. She would have to train her, mold her, counsel her for in truth, the Countess was a girl, barely on the verge to become a woman. She would need guidance. But still, she shook in joy for even the unrefined aura of the Countess' unfinished transformation promised the beginning of an era of darkness, greater than after the fall of Rome, greater even than before humans reigned supreme across the globe. Yes, she was sure now. The rule of the children of the moon was close.

The Chieftess kneeled before Hermione Granger.

"I welcome you, Countess Granger. My name is Ute von Königsberg. I am the Chieftess of the Hanse Packs and High Priestess of Fenris. I am your humble servant."

***Countess***

"Where are we, Remus?" Hermione asked when she took in the nightly panorama around her. Mountain ranges wherever she looked and a small, but deep lake was before her. In the distance was a village of sorts, built beneath a mountain and lit with just the smallest amount of lamps. When she turned she saw an enormous mansion in the style of old, baroque architecture.

"We are near the village of Hallstatt, your majesty." Epiphanes spoke as he saw that Remus still struggled with holding Annemarie. "Once territory of the Alauns, nowadays within a nation called Austria. We are at the Königsberg estate. The Chieftess von Königsberg should await us inside."

"Lead me then, spirit." she commanded. It grated on her nerves that the old greek didn't cower before her. It was irrational, so a part of her knew, but nevertheless, she didn't like him.

But she filed her dislike of him away for now. She could smell the people in the mansion. Over two dozen werewolves were present. However, one of them stood out from the mass. She was female and smelled of the forest. She smelled of resin, pines and the damp soil. Her blood had the distinct scent of magic on it. Hermione was sure that this was the Chieftess, the one who could help her become more powerful.

In the meanwhile Epiphanes had opened the door and floated into the hall, his transparent body blurring the insides. As far as she saw, the insides were magnificent, expensive and luxurious. Still something she had a hard time connecting with werewolves. People were waiting inside, bowed or standing with their chests out and knees together.

Hermione concentrated on her cramping fingers and the twitching of her eyes. She was hungry, very much so and the stress caught up to her. It took a lot out of her to reign in her bloodlust, the desire to cut something up for the hell of it. She should have eaten that farmer boy, voices in her head screamed in anger. But she refrained, all in favor of the boon awaiting her.

When she entered, she barely noticed the servants and guards. They did not have the very potent smell of unbound magic on them as the woman dressed in leather and fur had. She had antlers, of all things, covering her shoulders and a powerful staff in her hand. Hermione took a deep breath and tried to analyze what she smelled there. Her first thought brought her back to the centaurs and the merpeople. Their magic smelled like that, with the exception that the woman's aura was wild, ferocious and brutal. Nothing like the serene magic of the centaurs or the playful auras of the merpeople.

The woman before her was the Chieftess, of that Hermione had no doubt. She had also been sure that a powerplay would follow, determining whom of the both would lead. However, none of that was necessary, to Hermiones disappointment. The Chieftess bowed deep and then kneeled.

"I welcome you, Countess Granger. My name is Ute von Königsberg. I am the Chieftess of the Hanse Packs and High Priestess of Fenris. I am your humble servant. I hope you excuse the liberal use of portkeys, but it is only to disguise your tracks from our enemies."

 _Our enemies?_ Hermione thought, but then quickly figured that one who would seek to bow before her had to have conflicting ideologies to those of Dumbledore's sort. Hermione wanted to ask the powerful werewolve before her what she expected from her, what use she would have, what resources she could wield, but in the end, her thoughts were too clouded. Her fingers cramped again, her eyes twitched and all that came from her mouth was a deep, guttural growl.

The Chieftess smiled at her, and with that took Hermione by surprise. She tapped the maiden next to her on the shoulder and beckoned her forwards. The young girl was terrified, her steps mechanical and short. She had two stones in her hand, blue and with a white glow in them.

"You hunger, your majesty." The Chieftess moved with a certain grace as she followed the maiden a few steps behind. "But even if we would give you more flesh and more blood, you would hunger."

Another graceful step, another smile and a soft caress over the stones in the maidens hand. Hermione noticed the scent of adrenaline in the Chieftess. She was afraid, but a master at hiding it. Her voice became almost sultry when she spoke again. "You are no normal vampire, your majesty. You are the Bloodmoon, the Countess. We, children of the moon, bow before you. But not because of what you are, not yet," Her face was alight now, her eyes wide in anticipation and they locked onto Hermione's. The Chieftess held her horrific gaze with ease, enjoyed it even to bask in the dark red of her eyeballs. She drew a long breath and then whispered ", but because of what you can become."

She took one of the crystals and held it out to Hermione. "This is what you truly seek. This is what will make you whole, your majesty. Your head, it is filled with confusion, is it not?"

Reluctantly, as she always was when admitting a weakness, Hermione nodded.

"It is the same for werewolves when they do not see the moon, the same for vampires when they do not drink blood, the same for Lich when they cannot feast on magic. Take this, Bloodmoon and feast on it."

"What is it?" Hermione pressed out through her ever more clouding senses. There was no one here who wasn't a dark creature. She knew that there was a village nearby, full of blood filled veins and flesh. She had to withstand just a bit longer, the small spark urged her.

"This, your majesty, is what the Embodiment of Darkness truly feeds on, the very essence of the Light." In any other case, Hermione would have cut her head off for the dramatic pause, but again a small part of her urged her with all it had to wait and listen.

"This is a human soul."

Silence. Silence in her head and silence all around her. The very words didn't register with Hermione all at once. The Chieftess looked at her as if she expected something to happen, but she was just too stunned.

She smelled the adrenalin rising in the werewolve as she moved closer and softly grabbed Hermione's hands. She handled her like a mother would handle her daughter. She caressed her hands back as she placed the crystal in her claws with utmost caution. "This will silence the storm in your head, your majesty. It is the first step... the first step to your ascension." she whispered as she guided Hermione's hands to her mouth.

She wanted to maim the Chieftess, tear her to parts, but in her mind, she was stopped. She was stopped by the simple question 'What if?'. Yes, what if she spoke the truth? There was no salvation for her anymore, no limits to how deep she could fall. "How?" she asked.

The Chieftess moved even closer, guided her hands so that the crystal was a nose-length away from her mouth. And there! She could feel it, the soul moving in the meticulously grinded jewel. It glowed in despair, wanted out of its unnatural containment. It felt that it was close to its demise and Hermione acted on instinct. She took a breath, not deep or powerful, but focused on one thing only. Her attention was undivided on the soul that struggled to keep away from her.

Around Hermione the air became arctic cold, the Chieftess' breath clashed against her face as a white mist and the maiden began to shiver. Hermiones breath became rattling, raspy and didn't draw air anymore. All it did was rip the soul from it container. Tendrils, thin and white shining, broke loose and the moment they touched her lips, she knew that the soul was hers. Once more she sucked in air, harder, determined this time. She could smell it, the fear of it. She could taste the despair she was causing in this little ball of light. Once more, now with brutal force she sucked in, her breath was as if chains rattled against each other, the room filled with fog as the humid air froze.

Then the small ball of light was out of the crystal. It seemed to scream in terror as the last remnant of its existence was caught in the maelstrom that was Hermione's hunger. Its tendrils, fragile as they were, tried to hold onto anything, the Chieftess, Hermione's hands, even her lips and nose, but one last intake of breath forced it through. Lips sealed shut and the soul was pushed down into Hermione without the chance of survival.

I begun in her stomach, the feeling she knew well by now. The feeling of satisfied hunger. But this was more – profound. The crystal fell onto the floor as Hermione felt her stomach. She felt the soul struggling, fighting and howling as it lost the fight. It was devoured, fell apart and dissolved. A last dying screech vibrated through her body and then, like honey pouring over her, a feeling of bliss enclosed her.

From her stomach it moved to her chest where it lifted a weight she didn't know she carried. It moved to her arms and the cramps in her muscles and tendrils vanished. Hermione whimpered as this wave of regeneration set her spine back, relaxed her lower body, massaged her legs. Her eyes widened as she was overwhelmed by the sheer satisfaction that it brought and she fell to her knees, looking with a thousand mile stare as the warm feeling slowly made its way through her neck. Her bones cracked as week old tension left her body. She couldn't keep back her pleased moan that escaped her when her eyes stopped to twitch and the disgusting, acidic taste on her tongue was exchanged with a sweetness she hadn't known before.

Even slower but steady, the feeling also washed over her brain, and her mind. There was nothing, at first. Her mind cleared and all thought became blackness. For the first time in so long there was peace in her mind. Her eyes fell shut, her face relaxed from the constant scowl she wore. All felt good, all was well.

But then she was torn from the comfortable solitude of her mind by caring hands on her cheeks. Hermione opened her eyes to see the Chieftess kneeling before her with tears in her eyes and a broad, honest smile on her face. It brought Hermione back to where she was. Back to the mansion on the side of a mountain in Austria. Back in the middle of werewolves who call her a Queen.

And the worst thing it brought was a state of mind she hadn't known for the longest time. The fog cleared, the voices were silent and all what was left was merciless, unmasked and undeniable clarity. Everything she had done, everything she had become, every bloody and blood-freezing deed of hers from the last weeks came back to her and smashed into her brain with brutal force.

She knew that it was her nature, that the hunt would be what kept her alive. But the screams of her prey as they ran away from her sounded loud and clear in her head, as chorus to the dying screech of the soul she had just devoured. It would be a sound that burnt into her memory.

"Its okay, all is well." the Chieftess breathed. Her hands were soft on Hermiones skin as one moved to the back of her head while the other swept away a tear Hermione hadn't even felt leaving her eye.

"All...all those people..."she croaked out, but was silenced by the coos of the Chieftess.

"You mustn't feel guilty. All is good. We are here, we will protect you." She pressed Hermione against her chest, stroked her hair and enveloped her in a tight, motherly hug. "This is swear to you, my Queen."

Hermione didn't know what to do, but to hold onto the woman that held her so lovingly. Her mind was a whirlwind, unable to process the last weeks, struggling to keep itself in the present. All she knew for certain was that the soft voice and warm body felt nice and the arms around her felt reassuring. There would come no harm to her in these arms and she would not have to face the world as long as she was hugged by them.

She also knew, now, how much she had struggled with her mind. To find that it was purely the hunger for souls that had brought her to the brink of insanity made those tears roll down her cheeks freely.

She didn't struggle when the Chieftess lifted her up from the ground and carried her like a child up a flight of stairs. She held her tight, so that Hermione could only smell the resin in the blond hair and the scent of wet forest soil on her necks skin. She closed her eyes and focused on the few impressions that reached her nose, the sounds of the Chieftess' strong and sure steps on the wooden floor and most of all of the way her hands held her tightly.

Her body sagged, and her eyelids were so heavy, even if she wanted to she couldn't open them. She was more tired then she ever was. Weeks of hardship, loneliness and horror clashed over her. She barely realized that they were entering a room, that she was enveloped in blankets and that her head was carefully placed onto a pillow.

"Sleep now, my Queen. Tomorrow, the world will be a better place. Nothing can hurt you here." the soft voice of the Chieftess only made Hermione fall asleep faster. She just felt hands stroking her hair one last time before she completely drifted into her dreams.

***Countess***

"That went... amazingly well." Ute von Königsberg whispered as she slumped down next to the Master bedroom. The fine, oaken doors, charmed to suppress sound, made sure that the Countess wouldn't hear the laugh of the Chieftess as the tension in her left the body. She had expected that at least the maiden would be clawed to pieces by those terrifying, black claws of her Queen. In the end, she was now soundly sleeping in woolen sheets.

She wanted to whoop and jump around. She nearly did so, had she not feared for a guard or maiden to come around the corner. It wouldn't do for them to see her loose her countenance. But she couldn't quite hold back the face-splitting grin on her face. She had her, the Countess, and without loosing even...

"Chieftess, please, come quick." one of the maiden called through the corridor.

"What is it, Lisa?" The look of the maiden worried her, so she quickened her step.

"Its C-Counselor Lanzmann, shes in... in the east-wing. The healers... t- they..."

"Calm yourself, girl. Whats wrong with Annemarie?"

"Herr Lupin dragged her through the door while, well... while the Countess..."

"I know it was scary, but focus!"

"She doesn't respond. She slurs her words and the healers said that her bones – all of them, were broken and just halfheartedly healed. They fear that..." But the maiden couldn't finish her sentence before the Chieftess was in a full sprint towards the east-wing.

Not even a minute later she crashed through the doors and stopped as if stunned as she saw the healers wave their wand over the pale, naked body of her comrade in arms and close friend. Annemarie was a strong werewolve, an alpha that won that standing purely through fights and duels. There was little doubt as to what, or better who happened to her.

"I couldn't do anything." The silent voice of Lupin barely broke through the chants and commands of the healers. His eyes were red and he was silently crying. "It wasn't even... she had no wand. She just waved her hands and broke every bone in the Counselor's body."

Ute didn't respond, since there was no need. She knew well enough that men in his state tend to spill the beans in their own time.

"I apparated to Glasgow... we just wanted to meet up, but there she was. She killed at least seven people by just... just willing it. And silver..." he broke off. However, the Chieftess' attention had risen.

"What about silver. Remus, what happened?"

"She grabbed this necklace and it didn't burn her. It had a cross as a trinket. It did nothing. How?" he whispered. His hands held onto his robes tightly, his gaze never left the face of Annemarie.

"That is... remarkable. How long did she hold it?"

"For a few minutes, I don't know..."

"And you said there was a cross on it?"

"Yes, wooden, I believe,"

"Hmm..." She didn't really know what to do with that. The Impaler had been famous for his dislike of silver, because it would burn his hand and its mere presence made him uneasy. The books about him all had sections on this, without exception. "What does it mean that our Queen can touch the metal of purity without maiming herself?" she asked into the room. "Can it be...? But... no..."

Ute shook her head to get those trains of thought out of her. She had achieved a lot today and, frankly, was too tired to think of the mechanics and inner workings of higher magic right now, not to mention of the magic surrounding the figure of the Countess. Instead she sat down next to Annemarie on an armchair and looked at the wild and proud woman. She took in the bruises and wounds and listened to the distinctive sounds of cracking bone that some of the spells caused as they rearranged the werewolves skeleton.

"Master Kalenski, will she survive?" she asked her personal healer, with little doubt about the answer. Someone like Annemarie didn't just die.

"We are not sure. The next few hours will be critical. We are healing her bones right now, but her organs have taken a hit, as well as her brain. In any case, she won't be leading any squadrons for at least a few months, if ever again." the healer said without looking up from his patient.

"If its just physical, how could she not fully recover, if she survives?"

"There is residual magic in every bone broken, every bit of torn tissue and every puncture in her organs. Not just any magic – very lethal energies that keep her from healing."

The Chieftess just nodded, more to what the healer didn't say. Master Kalenski was known for his stance against aggression of any kind, an ideology underlined by his refusal to work for her in times of war. Nevertheless, he was a wise man, a good healer and intelligent enough to not ask the question he asked anyway with his tone. _'Was it worth it, your Majesty?'_

Ute nodded to herself. Annemarie would recover, she was sure of it. And if not, it would have been a small sacrifice to ensure the safety and eventual ascension of the Countess. In the end, what was one werewolf when the very balance of the world could finally, after millennia of living hunted and in fear, be broken. Annemarie would gladly die a hundred times over, just to give them all a chance to tip the scale and challenge those who wronged them.

She smiled and in her eyes was triumph as she looked at her broken comrade. There would be war – war so great that it would shatter the very foundation of magic itself. It was time for the children of the moon to rise again and the first step had been taken by the bravest of her warriors.

Yes, if Annemarie was to die, it would be a good death.

 **Hi, everybody, its me, UndeadBBQ. Your favourite lazyass.**

 **Well, not so lazy, really. Preoccupied would be a better word. Turns out, producing a videogame is fucking hard work with long hours. Who knew?**

 **Anyway, here it is, the first chapter since Juli. I also solemnly swear that I shall try and write faster. I also apologize for the quality of this chapter. I hope I got the essence right, at least, so that we can move in the right direction from here without much confusion on your side. I also confess that dementors are my favourite fantasy creature since dragons and that may have played a role in my decisionmaking. May have...**


	7. Chapter 7

**4\. September 1996**

It was weird, the feeling one had when he knew that he was asleep and dreaming, but couldn't get himself to wake up completely. It was like limbo, floating between being awake and being asleep. The arms of the clock jumped around as they pleased, the light changed with every opening of his eyes. Whenever he woke up it was because of the stinging pain on his chest where... well, he couldn't quite remember before he fell asleep again.

Eventually, Harry opened his eyes once again and realized that the numb feeling of sleepiness was gone. He recognized his surroundings fully now and took in the magnificent and detailed carvings on the four poster bed he lay in. The blankets he was under and the pillows that hugged his head were black satin and probably the most comfortable thing he had ever lain in. The room had a large window with heavy curtains framing it on both sides. The walls were covered in fine, dark wood and the ceiling was painted in white. A few candles lit the room and their dancing lights gave the scene a funeral vibe.

Come to think of it, that wasn't so far from what could have happened, he thought. With utmost caution he felt his chest and traced the bandages with his fingers. They were white and clean, recently changed it seemed. He faintly remembered seeing faces in his delirium, but he couldn't place them. They were blurred in his memory.

Harry couldn't quite hold back the groan as he stood up from the bed. It was by pure force of will, really, that he managed to escape from the beckoning comfort of the sheets. But he felt hunger and he knew he needed to squelch that as soon as possible, lest he go on a murder spree.

Looking around, he found some clothes waiting for him on a dresser at the opposite end of the room. The all-black outfit fit as if it was tailored for him and the robes had the same, modern cut he had once heard Lavender fuzz about. He, however, refrained from wearing the fancy shirt and went with a T-shirt that hung a bit more loosely on his still sore chest.

"Bloody hell, Moody," he growled out as the fabric touched the bandages on his chest. It was enough to make a spike of pain go through his body. It was a harsh reminder of his flight from Hogwarts. Whatever spell Moody had hit him with, it had done some messed up things with him. Just the memory of his skin hanging loosely and burnt from his ribcage made him retch in disgust again. Seeing his bones was not something he wanted to experience again, he decided.

His mind turned as he tried to think through the hunger, but he failed miserably. He needed blood, now, and the only place to get it was somewhere behind the wooden door of this room. So he made his way out of the bedroom and entered a long corridor of equally black decoration. It reminded him a bit of Grimmauld Place as he walked past scowling portraits of proud looking men and women. The corridor took almost a minute to walk as he had been at the very head of it. He came to an impressive entrance hall with two set of stairs leading down onto the bottom floor. The hall was bustling with people who made their ways up the stairs, down into the lower floors, through the two big gates at the side of the hall and the one to the outside. It surprised him quite a bit that a good half of the people were alive, normal humans, if maybe a bit pale. Where exactly was he?

With a slow pace he made his way down to the hall, looking for someone who didn't look in a hurry to ask.

"Harry,"

Nearly jumping out of his skin, Harry whirled around, just to see Isla Black snickering. She was as beautiful as he remembered, the more casual, cleavage showing dress she wore, doing nothing to soothe his more primal desires.

"My, thank you. I appreciate the compliment." she said and finished it up with that giggle of hers. "Although I would prefer to hear them, rather than read them from your mind."

That brought Harry back rather brutally. "You read my mind?" With not a little anger he thought back at the lessons with Snape.

"Oh, don't be so surprised. You carry your emotions on your face, and your thoughts on the surface of your mind. I don't even do it willingly and see what you're thinking." she giggled again. "Also, we're family... _that_ would just be naughty."

Despite himself, Harry rolled his eyes at the Lady Black. He couldn't quite hold back the smile at the Lady's inappropriate humor. He would have probably blushed too, had he still been able to. But the subject brought more question to his mind, which made him quickly frown again. "Dumbledore read my mind too, then?"

"That would be a fair bet, I suppose. He certainly did so when I was visiting. As did I... you philanderer."

"Could you stop with that?"

"Oh, absolutely not. Not until you learned to close off your thoughts. It shall be the boon for your troubles. I stop teasing when you stop giving me material to do so." and again, this giggle that made his knee weak. "I presume you are hungry? You have been healing for over two days now. You must be famished."

Yes, he was, he remembered. It was interesting that her mere presence was enough to distract him from that fact, but he filed that away for later. Now that she had said it, the hunger came back with a vengeance. "I wouldn't mind a pint or..."

"A _pint_?!"

"Well... yea, thats how I got my blood before. I don't... I mean, how else would I...?"

"Come along. Its high time you choose a girl." Lady Black commanded and pulled him along, down the stairs.

"Wait, hold up, I can't follow... girl?" Harry spluttered before he could form a coherent sentence.

"Of course," was all Isla answered as she pulled him through a wide corridor that lead deeper into the mansion, or castle, or palace or whatever it was. "Tell me, Harry. Have you noticed how a few of your female classmates reacted to your presence. Someone who was maybe a bit too excited that you're among them?"

He had already forgotten that, but of course, there were. "Romilda Vane, for one, seemed to have a thing for the undead. Susan Bones was another, some Slytherin girl and... uhm..."

"Yes, and?"

",and Professor... Professor Sinistra." he answered, looking everywhere but in her eyes. However, Isla Black didn't use the new material for another tease, quite the contrary. The beautiful vampire was all business.

"It is a reaction of a few, mostly very lonely women. It is the same with me and men. It is a dangerous thing, some might even call it fatalistic, to give oneself to a vampire. Nevertheless, some do it for it gives them some sort of peace of mind." Isla seemed to ponder her words before she continued. "We have many of those here, you might have noticed the humans walking in the hall, yes? We feed on them and in exchange, we fulfill their desires. It is a... symbiotic relationship, one could say."

"So, when you say I'm to choose a girl, you mean..."

"Choosing a donor, yes." she giggled. "What did you think, loverboy?"

Harry chose to ignore the tease and just stayed on track. He could definitely see her relation to Sirius, though. "So, how does this...choosing work, exactly?"

Isla thought about her answer for a bit, it seemed, as she walked further down corridors and galleries before she stopped at a golden gate. In the end, she chose to give him not an answer, but advice.

"Harry, before you enter, I want you to know something. Choosing a donor, claiming one, is an honor very few vampires have ever received in these halls and my Clan as a whole. Normally, we share. If you claim one donor, she will be yours, completely. She will..."

"... be my slave?" he interrupted with a deep frown on his face.

"No, silly." Isla laughed. "But she will be very... dedicated. Most claimed donors become adjutants and right hands. They are an important piece of vampire culture, remember that. You will see if a donor is marked by the mark on their cheek, most often a tattoo that identifies their... well, yes, here we go... that identifies their master."

"I really don't think I want that, at all."

However, that was the wrong answer, he found. In less than a second, the small smile on Islas face twisted into an angry scowl, a terrifying grimace, really. Her fangs were prominent in her open mouth and just like that, the giggling, teasing Isla became the scary and powerful Lady Black. There it was again, that feeling of danger the vampire radiated.

As fast as it came, it was gone again and the vampire Lady was left with a stern gaze, but otherwise neutral expression. She took a deep breath and then spoke in a clear and hard tone. "Harry! You are a vampire. I have brought you here in hopes that you will embrace this nature of yours. I will give you leeway, for now, but remember well that refusing such an honor is a grave insult. Vampire culture builds on gifts. Gifts of blood, gifts of protection, gifts of alliances. To refuse a gift is to refuse our culture and to say no to me, giving you the freedom to choose among dozens of donors, is equal to spitting me in the face."

Another deep breath followed, and to Harry's relief, a soft smile graced her face again. "Oh blimey, this is going to be quite a task. It was ages since I had the last initiate. I must apologize, but I forgot, for a second, that you can't know these things."

Harry swallowed the knot that blocked his throat and made a big, fat mental note of the lesson he just received. He could do without an angry Isla Black in his life. Instead he decided to just go with the flow, for now. "Alright then, how does it work... choosing, I mean,"

"Oh, thats easy." she laughed and opened the huge, golden gates. "Have fun and just follow your nose." He was then roughly pushed into a room in which something went on that Harry could only identify as a relaxed and dignified get-together. He felt quite out of place.

Vampires were laying on big, comfortable, oriental cushions, arranged over persian carpets in little alcoves in the floor. They were holding drinks, ate blood-red sweets and snacks and some hung on the necks of, what Harry guessed, were donors. Those humans had expressions of bliss, and those who looked on had unmasked longing on their faces.

It took him a while, but eventually he also saw the room for what it was. He had to correct himself, it wasn't just a room. Its walls were made of glass. Huge screens of meticulous glass, held together by fine lead seams, let the people inside look onto a magnificent park outside where small lights illuminated bushes, roses and a large pond. The pillars that held the glass in between them were covered in gold, and opulent in their decoration with motives of demons and ravens that all stretched towards the chandelier in the middle of the room. A chandelier that, as he looked closer at it, was a golden statue of a woman that hung upside down. One side of the woman was skeletal, with torn skin over her bones, while the other side was beautiful and healthy. It was surrounded by floating candles that gave the hall a dark, mysterious light. It was barely enough for humans to see in, although for Harry's eyes, it was just the perfect grade of light.

Harry took another look through the hall and decided that standing around like he didn't belong was surely not what Isla wanted from him. He made his way over the slightly elevated path between the alcoves and sat down at a bar at the very left end of the hall. He was nervous, he had to admit. All this was new for him and he had a thousand question he would have liked answers too before mingling with a culture he didn't know anything about. So he observed, for now. It wasn't too loud in the hall and he discovered that there was no echo of voice, even if the hall would have easily been big enough for that. He shrugged it off as just another bit of magic he knew nothing about and looked at the audience in the room.

Some of them glanced over to him, but didn't do so twice. They were caught up in their conversations or fed on donors. If Harry had to be honest, they had pretty arrogant looks on them. There were a dozen alcoves in the room, total. The first seven, closest to the door, were filled with vampires and donors. Another one had humans in them, chatting with each other or drinking cocktails. They, also, didn't look at him too much, even though he liked the expressions on their faces better. They seemed more welcoming than the vampires. The rest of the alcoves were empty, but ready for the eventual guest that would sit down there.

However, the blood flowing through their veins was eventually distracting him from his observations. He really was hungry and the blood smelled fantastic. But then again, he wanted to make sure not to make a scene, so he grabbed a few of the sweets he knew as blood-pops from the bar and began snacking on them to ease his hunger for a little longer. Eventually he'd have to go and, well, do whatever one did to politely ask someone if it wouldn't be too much trouble to puncture her neck.

Slow steps made him turn around, to see the barkeeper, a vampire, walk to him with a polite smile. He was waving his wand and made a few glasses clean themselves, then he got a bottle from a freezer, opened the cork with a 'pop' and poured some blood-red liquid into a large tumbler. He then placed the glass before Harry and nodded encouragingly.

Harry looked confused between the glass and the barkeeper until the man rolled his eyes and explained. "Its Vino Sangue. Bloodwine." At the still skeptical look from Harry, he elaborated further. "Its basically a Cuvee, made from Merlot and the blood of cows. Its good for the nerves," he said and winked at Harry.

Still not quite sure, but willing to try, Harry took the glass and sipped a bit on it. It tasted alcoholic first and foremost, but by far not as bad as the beer or liquor smelled that his Uncle Vernon sometimes drank. He could get used to it, he thought and took another, bigger sip.

"You're the new initiate, aren't you? The one Lady Black had the entire estate up in alarm about. You came alone to the hall?"

Harry nodded. "Yea, I'm new here and... well, I have no idea what to do, really." he then realized the last part of what the barkeeper had said. "And yea, I came alone. Why do you ask?"

The barkeeper just shrugged, "Ah, its just the older lady also came with you... whats 'er name... Mc something."

"McGonagall?" Harry blurted out.

"Yeah, thats it. Quite a beast, that one, I hear."

"Oh, bloody hell." he groaned out and hid his face in his hands. "I completely forgot about that."

"'Bout what?"

"About me biting her."

"Oh," came the awkward answer from the barkeeper, who averted his eyes for a second there. But the guy didn't take long until he shrugged again and waved his left hand in front of his face. "Doesn't matter. They all come around eventually. However, don't expect her to treat you nice for some time. The involuntary ones tend to hold grudges." he finished with a short, barked laugh and then poured himself a smaller glass of the same wine.

They both sat in silence while they drank some of the wine. Harry reigned in his guilt of biting his Professor, barely remembering why he had done it in the first place. It was all a blur, with only the horrifying display of power by Dumbledore clear in his head. He groaned when he thought about the inevitable confrontation he imagined would happen at a later date. His transformation had taken a while to complete. He reckoned that McGonagall would take an equally long time. But then, the legendary scottish temper would descent upon him with a vengeance, of that he was sure.

The barkeeper got him back into the present by refilling his glass that he had unconsciously emptied by now. Harry grew fonder of the stuff the more he drank of it, even though it did close to nothing to ease his hunger. A fact that seemed to not escape the barkeeper.

"There is nothing to it, you know. You just go to them and ask to sit with them. Its easy, really. You're a handsome bloke, after all." This time the wink of the barkeeper made him rather uncomfortable. But anyway, he was no one to judge.

"I'm really not... sure. I mean..."

"Ah, pish-posh. I'll help you if you're so shy." The barkeeper then snipped his finger a few times above his head until a few of the girls in the eighth alcove came towards the bar.

It was the first time Harry was glad that he was undead. His face would have been scarlett red at the sight of the three women that slowly made their approach. One of them was blonde, with pale, porcelain skin and full, rosy lips. She reminded Harry a bit of Luna with her big, blue eyes. The second one was easily as breathtaking, with brunette hair and a mischievous gleam in her eyes. The third one was a black girl with long, flowing hair and crystal blue eyes that captivated him. More than their looks, their scents fascinated him, enveloped him with its intoxicating range of aroma. Their smell just grew stronger as they moved to stand around him, all of them sultry looks on their faces.

 _Holy Merlin, keep it together!_ He chastized himself in his head. "Hi," was the meager greeting he got out.

"Oh, a shy one. Don't worry, luv, we don't bite." the blond said softly.

"Yeah, thats your job." the black girl joked.

They were about to drag him off when the barkeeper held a big, ice-bowl of wine and vino sangue to them and said in a hushed voice. "That young gentleman is Harry Potter of Black, ladies. Be nice, won't you."

That raised their eyebrows and suddenly, the girls walked a bit closer to him as he felt was comfortable. They moved him towards one of the alcoves and sat him down between them while the drinks and some snacks floated to the table in the middle.

Harry clinged to his glass like a lifeline. He felt like he would split inside as one part of him was even more uncomfortable then on the Yule Ball, while the other part couldn't be happier. He identified that part as the same that wanted to do certain things to Isla Black. He really had hoped to get that under control.

However, the way in which the girls got rid of their robes to reveal shirts with impossibly deep cleavage made all plans fly out of the window. But then it wasn't the cleavage that made his head spin, it was the now exposed necks of them and the bitter-sweet restraint to not bite into them immediately.

"Its okay, you know," the blonde said, again in that sultry tone. "We want you to do it."

"But what if I... what if I get carried away? I really don't want to hurt you."

 _By magic itself, this is torture!_ He thought as she caressed his cheeks while the other two sighed as if he had just said the sweetest thing.

"Don't worry. We know how to handle that. Just follow your instincts." the black skinned girl said. She moved from her pillow on the left of the blonde girl and basically crawled over in front of him. There she moved closer, between his legs and then full on laid herself over him. She moved her neck into a perfect position next to his mouth and whispered in his ear. "Just let go, luv."

Every bit of restraint went away then as his fangs penetrated the black skin of the woman. He had assumed that it would taste similar to the blood he had drunk from McGonagall, or the sensation he vaguely remembered from the department of mysteries. However, this was by far more. It was in the silent moan the woman breathed in his ear, the absolute perfection of her blood. The taste of hearty shepards pie, the scent of the breeze on a fresh summer day and the feeling of the pulse of her heart as it pumped more and more of the red liquid into his mouth. Far too soon for his taste, she pulled away. Her eyes were glaced over and her breath was deep as if she rung for air.

"You must kiss the wound." the blonde whispered and Harry did so without much thought. He kissed the punctured skin and felt it closing up under his lips. Any other situation, he would have asked what happened, but for now it was just a sidenote in this avalanche of sensations.

He couldn't even get a word out before another neck was before him. It was just as intoxicating. Yes, he could taste it out there, the soft, sweet poison, amortentia. Just like with the last girl, she pulled away much too soon. It was a bit disappointing to be denied so short before... well, before something. Harry wasn't sure what it was, but he always felt like he still had a way to go in his search for the last bit of wonder. Like he was climbing a mountain as just before the peak, he was urged to turn around and miss the view.

He wasn't the only one to recognize this. The girls looked guilty, if he interpreted their looks right. He, however didn't have enough time to dwell on those thought before he tried the third neck. Unfortunately, despite the amazing tastes and scent, he was still left disappointed.

"You're a demanding one," the black girl joked lamely, obviously put off by her... he wouldn't call it failure. Frankly, he didn't know anything about this, so he tried to smile and enjoy the feeling of his satisfied hunger. Maybe this was how it was supposed to be and the girls were put off by something else. He couldn't really know, now could he?

He took some of the blood-pops on the table and sank back into the persian cushion, basking in the feeling of a filled stomach. He dropped some of the blood-pops and tried to follow the girls' conversation, but couldn't quite process their words through the bliss. He, however, saw their sudden bustling and frantic movement and heard the gates shut close from afar.

"I think we might have something for you, after all." he heard the black girl say and noted that he should really ask for names. But not right now.

Two of them stood up and made their way through the room. They came with a fourth girl, a bit older than them. That one made him look up, his nose taking in something so intense, he wouldn't believe it, hadn't he experienced it himself. Her scent was perfectly imitating the scent of amortentia, but there was more to it. There were roses and the salty essence of the sea in there. There was, for a lack of a better word, magic in her veins that pulsed as he moved closer. He didn't see much, the wild mob of black hair covering most of the woman's features. But he saw her neck, the skinny form of it and the pale skin that covered this wonder he was about to discover.

His fangs punctured her skin and the shiver that went down her body was like a cherry on top. There still was his favorite taste predominant, but it soon made way for what he could only describe as a buffet of new, more interesting choices. The salty and at the same time, sweet blood of hers made his tongue move around the wound, massaged her neck just to make the blood come faster. To get more of this out of her before she would pull away. It reminded him of the small breakfast he had with Hagrid in the Leaky Cauldron, the first meal he had at Hogwarts, the hearty onion soup of Molly Weasley. Its scent was the cold breeze of the scottish winter. Its finer details the bitter and salty aroma of mandrake potion, freshly administered. The woman under him moaned with barely held back pleasure as her hands moved around his head, pressing it further into her. His fangs punctured even deeper, the blood ran faster and became thicker. He reacted in kind, slung his arms around her and pressed her back to his stomach. She mustsn't pull away, this one. She had to give him just that bit more. Another drop, another gulp, for he needed it to survive. This was not just hunger satisfied, this was the very truth of his desires, those he knew of and those he was just discovering. His sense clouded as with one last gulp, he felt as if he was floating on clouds. His mind slowed down and he tenderly kissed the wounds before he sunk back on the pillow.

That was it, he knew. That was the sensation the other three were not able to provide him with. He wanted to thank the black haired woman, but as he tried to make out her face, she started, a stiffled scream tried to escape her lips and she fled from the alcove and the hall altogether. Violet eyes were the only thing he could recognize and would be what he needed to remember, because he had made a choice. This woman was his donor, whoever she was. She had to agree, for otherwise, how could he even begin to live this new life of his, now that he knew of these heights?

One of the three girls handed him a glass and he drunk from it the delicious wine. It just added to the tastes in his mouth that kept him in a high he had never thought he would experience.

It took hours before he awoke from the bliss and could make out the conversation of the girls around him that were, by now, rather drunk.

As high as he had been, as low he felt when he didn't see violet eyes amongst them. He excused himself, not even trying to conceal his disappointment of not seeing her sitting there, drinking wine. It was a high cost for something so utterly fantastic. Yes, he felt a bit like the time when Cho had refused his invitation. It also came close to the spike of pain in his heart when he had been sure that Hermione was gone for good.

In the end, he came from the hall, more downtrodden then before. His hunger was satisfied, but instead he was aching for more of that blood. It was a horrible feeling.

He also was sure that whatever had the Lady Black so worried that she paced up and down the entrance hall could not be good for him either. When she spotted him, he had to hold back a whimper and keep himself from running away. What had he done now?

She rushed past him and just with a simple gesture of her hand gave him to understand that he was to follow. He didn't even dare to think about not to obey. She simply was the scariest person he knew when angry, safe for Dumbledore who radiated his own kind of terror when enraged.

They made their way through the corridor to his room. She nearly ripped the hinges out of the frame when she opened the door. She then grabbed him and flung him onto the bed with ease.

"Sit down and listen! Not a word from you!" She paced up and down, trying to calm down, but this time her feral grimace didn't go away. If anything it became more pronounced with every length of the room she finished.

Finally she turned to Harry, who barely kept sitting in place. All he wanted to do was to run as fast as he could, as far away from an angry Isla Black as he could.

"Are you too stupid to look at what you eat, Potter?" she roared through the room. "Or do you just not care?"

Another pace up and down the room which again did nothing to soothe her. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and then, without looking at him, continued. "First you bite that beast of a woman that makes tinder out of my furniture in the dungeons. Do you have any idea how complicated a task it is to force-feed a transforming vampire that does not want to be fed? No of course you don't you foolish boy! How could you?! No... Gaaaah!"

With the speed of a wild animal she whirled around and punched against the wall with enough force to make the house vibrate at impact. A hole the size of her fist was in the sturdy brick wall and around the crater, the whole wall had a dent. She took another deep breath, shook her head and let the air out slowly.

"Alright... alright, lets start with your experiences in the feasthall just now." she commanded in a much calmer voice.

"I... I..."

"Don't stutter! What happened with the girls?"

"They were nice enough, I suppose. It was amazing, to be honest. But..." Harry looked down in sorrow at his feet. "But the truly breathtaking one, the one I would have chosen ran away after I drank her blood. It was just the... Lady Black?"

Harry stopped babbling when he saw Isla Black squat down and groan in her hands with so much annoyance that Harry felt nearly insulted. It was an amazing thing, was it not, ti find a donor?

"Do you know who that was?"

"No, I... was kind of in a daze when I bit her. Why?"

The most exasperated sigh he had ever heard escaped the vampire before him. She stood up and sat next to him. Oddly enough she looked as beaten as he was by now and her gaze was also fixated on her feet.

"I can not guarantee you that she'll come back." she finally said after a minute pause.

It felt like a world broke apart for Harry. Those words hurt him like he hadn't believed possible. "What..." he whimpered, "Why? Did I do something wrong? I can... I don't know... apologize, I didn't know, I mean I'm just going with the flow here. I have..."

"Stop!" Isla commanded. Her eyes never left the tip of her feet when she spoke. "You didn't do something wrong per se. You just happened to get addicted to the blood of someone who isn't exactly a regular."

"So you know her? Who is she?" Harry blurted out.

"You really don't want to know, Harry."

But he would not be denied, not in this. He knelt down and barely held back tears. "Please, Lady Black. Isla... I need her. This.. I can't remember the last time when I was so... so... complete."

"By Dracula, you've got it bad." she tried to joke, but her voice made it sound profoundly sad. "Has it really been that good?"

"It was as if every good feeling I ever had was in her blood. It made my head fuzzy and... oh, it felt so... I can't even describe it." he paused and locked onto her eyes. "See for yourself if you don't believe me."

He didn't really think she would do it, but Isla Black dove into his thoughts after all. She only skimmed his most recent memory and Harry let her, freely. When she was done, she just looked at him with endlessly sad eyes before she pointedly looked away. She seemed to haggle with herself. Her lips moved without making a sound and the longer she did so, the sadder she became.

"Before we talk any further, I must let you know that I cannot promise anything. Understood?"

Harry nodded.

"I also want to warn you that you really – I mean really don't want to know who you're so addicted to."

To that Harry shook his head. He wanted to know, no matter the cost.

Isla snorted and a pained smile flashed over her face. "Then listen well and do know that I only tell you the truth. I won't have you calling me a liar or any such disrespect."

She didn't even wait for Harry's reaction, for she needed no approval.

"The woman you admire so much is my niece..."

"But thats great, isn't it. If shes your niece you can easily..." but then it clicked in his head. There weren't many women that qualified as Isla Blacks niece. The Lady Black watched as realization dawned upon her charge.

"Who? There are three women out there that fit that description. Narcissa Malfoy, Andromeda Tonks and Bel... Bellatrix Lestrange." he said in a voice devoid of any emotion.

"Take a guess,"

"No," Harry groaned "No, no, no, no... merlin damnit, no."

"I think you guessed right."

"Why is she even here?" Harry demanded, heat slowly creeping into his voice. "Why is she even allowed to be here? She is Voldemort's lieutenant! How can you be so..."

"Stop right there." Harry immediately followed order. He didn't underestimate the warning he received by a pointed finger of Isla Black. "I will not have you question whom I let into my house and whom I deny. She is my niece and it was your friends fault that she was maimed beyond the capabilities of the human healers of St. Mungo."

Harry swallowed and sat back onto the bed. "So, Bellatrix Lestrange is the one I... chose." he shook his head wildly as if to deny himself to think those thoughts. "Damn," was all he got out in the end.

"Bellatrix Black, now, actually," Isla casually said into the room. "Didn't even take that bastard Lestrange a day to divorce his 'damaged' wife. Can't give him a son and now shes not even all that pleasant to look at, with all those scars. Not exactly pureblood wife material now, my niece. And yes,... damn, indeed."

"Is she going to tell him? Voldemort, I mean."

"If she respects me – and I'm sure she does – then she won't. Not with the way he's treating her."

That peaked his interest. He had always heard that Bellatrix Lestrange was the Dark Lords most loyal, most devoted follower. To hear that there was something she would keep secret from him, well, that certainly was something new.

Seeing the interest in Harry's eyes, Isla continued. "The Dark Lord, Harry, has one huge weakness. A weakness he had since the day he entered Hogwarts. The Dark Lord fears death, or more exactly, the concept of death. He fears the nothing afterwards. Hence, since the day he found out how close we vampires are to death, how we _are_ dead in the most technical sense, he detested us. Sure we were good enough as cannonfodder, but he never issued a command himself. It had always been one of his Inner Circle that conversed with us and with the poor fools that went to battle for him in the end." She sighed deeply. "Bellatrix had fallen victim to your friend, Granger if I remember correctly. She hadn't been bitten, you prevented that, but she had gotten plenty of vampirism infested blood into her system. Enough, at least, to make Voldemort keep her far away. Imagine that, Harry. He gives up his most loyal because she gets easily sunburnt now."

Harry snorted at the joke, but grew serious again fast. "So, whats the deal now. Why is she here?"

"Do you remember what I told you before you entered the feasthall? About who awaits there?"

Harry thought for a short time and then, when he realized, his expression grew sad and he caught himself feeling bad for Bellatrix Lestrange. Isla read his expression as the answer she expected.

"Thats right, very lonely women come here to find company, pleasure and and escape from their sorrows. And if I ever saw someone lonely then it is my niece. With just one stroke, quite literally, she lost everything. Right now, I'm the only one who would even listen now, so she came once to talk and then again and again to find some relief in the poison of vampires."

"Not that she doesn't deserve that." Harry mumbled. Of course, Islas ears were those of vampires and she heard loud an clear.

"True," she said with force. "But you may find that I care little about those I do not deem family. Bellatrix is family, and therefore I forgive her by default. She will always be welcome in my halls, even if I do not fully trust her." Isla sighed another time, her eyes searching the room for nothing, or maybe for answers, before they stopped at Harry. She fixated his black and green eyes and with a forced neutral voice she asked. "What will you do now, Harry? I have seen her and I can guarantee you that she had a similar experience tonight. I have seen these faces for all my life now and I felt her confusion as she ran by me. So tell me, what will you do?"

Harry wanted to say that Bellatrix could go to hell. That this Death Eater scum should burn in hell for all the pain she had caused. For the way she had brought misery upon Neville's life and those of countless others. She was callous, brutal and ruthless, why should her fate be plastered with forgiveness?

But then he also remembered that feeling when he drank her blood. He had felt so incredibly good, so detached from his problems and sorrow. He also had felt in control over her as he had pressed her body against his own. The way she had held his head to puncture deeper, draw more of her blood. It had felt so _right._

As much as it felt like that final betrayal, that final and irrevocable deed that would cut even the last of his ties, he had decided. He wasn't sure if maybe it was just the animal in him speaking. The sense of hunger that was always there in the back. However, he had made a choice earlier and there had been reason for it. Enough reason, at least, to make his decision now. "I want to speak with her. Here. I want to talk to her about what happened and... I don't know. We shall see."

"A good choice."

"We shall see," he repeated silently.

 **Truth be told, dear readers, this chapter exists for longer than the previous one. I was unsure about it, but in the end, I wrote enough draft dialogue with the King and Queen of snark, wit and sarcasm (read Harry and Bella) that I deem this path to be the best one to walk upon. For the ones hopping for some Hermione - Harry interaction, I'm sorrythat you had to exercise patience for another chapter.**

 **Anyway, Ad victoriam, civilians!**


	8. Chapter 8

**I'm back. If you still have this on the Alert list, I compliment your patience (or lack of account upkeep, but eh…)**

 **Enjoy!**

***Countess***

 **8\. September 1996**

The sun set over the proud mountains of the austrian alps. Hallstatt, the small village with great heritage down there, sitting like a monument of oldest age next to the lake, shone orange and red in the light of the falling sun. Around the village, the forests began to rest, or awoke to the calling of the moon. Silence began reigning as the predators of the night prepared themselves for their hunts in the shadow.

Hermione Granger stood at the balcony of the room she hadn't left since her arrival at the mansion. All the awe inspiring nature around her couldn't hold her attention. Her eyes were fixed, as so often these days, on the claws that were her hands. They were black like coal, with power waiting underneath the tip of each claw. Curved were they, like the talons of eagles, and sharp like those of hippogriffs. Her hands were covered in scales of obsidian black color, up to her elbow were they faded into her pale, almost white skin. Those claws cut through her sheets which hung now, no more than teared rags at this point, over her bed and those scales were the only part of her body that her claws could not hurt. Skin, fabric, even some lesser metals were like warm butter under razor blades for her hands. The merest touch with the tips inflicted wounds, as if she needed another weapon, as if her magic wasn't dangerous enough.

She heard the door open behind her and one of the many maidens of the residence enter. The sheets rustled as the girl gave haste to change them for another set that would be torn apart tomorrow. Another maid entered and Hermione felt her meager patience run low again. Her temper was short fused, and brought with it brutality that was so well represented in the claws. "I said I do not want to be disturbed." she growled out, her voice echoing with a dozen tongues from every direction.

In an instant the rustling stopped and the second maid halted whatever she was about to do.

"Aber..." the first one whimpered out. "but, the Chieftess ordered..."

"I do not care what the Chieftess ordered. Leave!"

"Yes, your majesty." they chorused and as quickly as they came, they hurried out of the room, leaving the sheets half changed, the candles half lit and the flowers in the vase still withered.

***Countess***

Edda looked up the staircase, seeing once again the servants of that High Priestess run from the big bad Countess. She had heard that the Bloodmoon could be intimidating, even to a spectre, but this was just ridiculous. The girls fled the hall head over heels, careful to dodge anyone who might be in charge of anything remotely important.

That did not include her. At all. She had thought patrolling the swamps was a bore. Standing guard in the fortress that was this mansion though, that was a true torture of endless boredom.

The only bit of entertainment were the bickering VIP's everywhere. The vampires claimed that since the Countess was one of theirs, they ought to be granted the honor of becoming her guard. The werewolves pointed out that it was them who found her and saw to it that she would even have the chance to become the Countess. Her commander then would argue that it was the Varangian Guard that has been and will always be the right hand of the Bloodmoon.

Edda thought the werewolves had the best claim there, given that the vampires hadn't given a shit until the Countess Granger tasted her first real meal, an event that had the servants still shivering in fear, and the Varangian Guard wasn't exactly the feared army of battlemages anymore that it has been at the time of the Impaler.

One of these arguments came sounding into the hall from the lounge. She heard the deep rumbling of her commander's voice, proclaiming for the entire mansion to hear that during the year so-and-so the Impaler gave this-and-that order to him, therefore the Guard must be granted the honor.

Edda sure was glad that her completely black eyes didn't make it easy for anyone else to see her roll them. "Same old, same old, Commander." she mumbled, making the guard right of her snort in amusement.

The quiet giggle of her comrade was short lived. Almost out of nowhere, one of the Captains, Pyrelius Cladius, stepped next to them. he was a regal looking roman, with broad shoulders. He was a powerful spirit, almost corporeal and Edda would've gulped had she still been able to.

"You find our argument amusing, soldier?" he growled out, his voice like rusty iron on stone.

"No, sir." both Edda and her fellow guard said.

His face turned into an even fiercer scowl. "That will be enough for tonight, guards. You," he pointed at her comrade "check the dungeons."

Edda cringed at the thought. The dungeons were where the hags had made camp and those beasts were anything but nice company.

"You, " he turned to Edda "patrol along the perimeter. Dismissed."

Edda made haste to get away from the Captain before the old roman could think of something nastier than patrolling along celtic ritual sites. True, they were full of traps for spirits like her, but it was a far shot from being stuck with hags discussing the best wine that goes with eating infants.

She started at the perimeter straight from the door of the mansion. It was a beautiful sight, the alps and the lake at the foot of the mountains. She remembered that her father had once been invited to travel to someplace around here, but the name of the place eluded her. It had been too long and even the face of her father was but a blur in her memories at this point. However, seeing the mountains made her remember his voice as he told her about his travels through the lands, in service of his majesty the Emperor.

Edda went along the very edge of the perimeter. There were potent wards in place, starting from Muggle-repellent to ancient wards that would expel a phoenix trying to flash into the mansion. She had been a muggle before her death, but even she could appreciate the fortification of the place. With those wards, checking the perimeter was just as useful as standing guard. It showed that the Varangian Guard was here, present and ready to fight. It also kept the rowdy guests of the mansion in check.

They were still not corporeal, even though with each hour close to the Countess, their bodies took on a more solid form. Their spears and swords, however, already hurt - a lot. She smiled as she remembered knocking a vampire over the head because he mocked the "little poltergeists". She never knew vampires could be unconscious.

After a while of patrolling and wallowing in recent memories, she came to the edge of the old forest that hid the ritualistic clearings and springs from prying eyes. It was wild and the trees probably never saw any woodworkers. Dead trees rotted on the ground, giving nutrition to new seeds and housing to vermin. The bushes were thick, green and almost like walls protecting the fauna from the outside world. It was the most interesting part of her patrol, even though it was also the most dangerous for her.

The High Priestess had her many places of worship in there. They were littered with all kinds of trinkets and charms to catch spirits of nature. Unfortunately those trinkets would also work on her if she strayed too close to them.

But even though it was dangerous it was no less beautiful. The sites had a glow around them, telling of the many rituals that had taken place there. The grass seemed greener, the bushes thicker, the trees mightier around the stone circles in the clearings. Runes on them shone in weak white light, resembling the silver of the moon and the white of snow. It was the most magical place Edda has ever seen and it was ever so hard for her not to fall prey to the spirit traps.

"It would be way too embarrassing to be freed from them by some Priestess." That thought kept her from trying how close she could get.

She took her time walking through the mystical woods. She had heard so much about magic throughout her service, but actually seeing some of its beauty kept taking her proverbial breath away.

It was at the very edge of this forest that she took a double take. Something had moved in the bushes and it sure as hell wasn't small enough to be a rodent or any animal allowed within the perimeter.

Edda quickly took cover behind a tree. Sometimes it was an advantage to be incorporeal as she slipped through the trees bark and wood to look at the forest from within it.

"What are they doing here?" she thought as she spied long, elegant spears in the dark. She would know these designs anywhere. Often enough she had seen them as those creatures ventured inside Varangian territory to startle the alarms and then be gone. Just then the silhouette of a mighty centaur came from behind a bush, walking up and down the invisible line of the perimeter like a caged animal.

"Won kummts?" she heard the centaur hiss at someone she couldn't see.

"I woas ned, oba mia san ned auf da Flucht." another voice hissed back. Edda cursed herself for not paying attention to the heavy austrian dialect spoken in the mansion. Her German was nowhere near as solid enough to make out what the figures said and now some practice would work wonders. All she knew was that no centaur had any business being here.

Edda decided to keep waiting. If it was just one centaur and his comrade, a full out alarm would be overkill and would merely shoo him away. Catching them would be much more beneficial. Maybe the commander would even let her use some tricks she learned from the SS officers?

"Da Bluadmond muas sterbn. 'S ko ned sei das ia so long brauchts." the centaur whispered while he still walked up and down the edge of the wards.

"Heast nua di Rua. Sie wirds scho riachn. Und wenns donn do is, donn is hi."

Edda saw the second figure wave around a small stone in its hand. It glowed slightly. Then the figure circled a stick around it - a wand! The centaurs had support from wizards.

Wizards and witches were another thing entirely for her. Edda grinned as she prepared for one of the more advanced techniques that come with being a spectre. Possessing the wizard and capturing the centaur would certainly be worth a promotion.

***Countess***

Hermione kept standing at the balcony. She couldn't sleep during the night, but anything else held no entertainment for her, no sense or purpose. Books on magic lost their charm. She had come to the conclusion that there was a distinct difference between casting a spell and wielding magic. The spell required parameters, skill and technique. Wielding it was a primal, instinctive method of magic. She wanted it and it happened. It was like enslaving magic, opposed to directing it. It made her feel powerful, but it also made her grief over all the wasted hours of waving her wand to get to the right movements.

She didn't have to train herself to perfection. According to the Priestess, she _was_ perfection.

Hermione did scoff at that when Königsberg told her and she did so now when she thought back to that particular discussion. Perfection was indeed in the eye of the observer.

But all of that was but a wisp in the back of her mind with which she tried to keep her thoughts off of the unimaginable hunger she felt. It was more than just the lust for blood or flesh. She wanted another soul. She craved it so much, her mind screamed for it. Everything smelled like it. The sheets the servants touched smelled like the soul of the girl. The withered flowers had the scent of many people's souls on them.

Hermione tried to quench her lust for souls for another night. It disgusted her, to think that she was nothing more than a glorified dementor. What would sucking the soul out of a living being be like? The stone was dead, but the soul in it very much suffered when she consumed it. Hermione remembered liking it, the suffering.

Up and down the balcony she walked, her arms close around her and her claws digging into her own sides so that a bit of pain may distract her from the hunger.

It was to no avail. There it was, the sweet smell of soul, coming from the forest. She couldn't hold it any longer. She had to have it, taste it, feel it in her stomach being devoured.

Hermione jumped from the balcony, uncaring if she may sound some alarm. The smell came from the dense forest in the east, where she often saw the Priestess vanish to for her prayer. With quick steps she ran over the wet grass. Her feet made no sound and just after a few seconds she vanished by simply ordering the moonlight to hide her.

Soon she reached the edge of the forest. She could feel the magic of the rituals curse through the many roots of the threes. Every single one of the trees was alive - some would even argue that they were sentient. In another life, Hermione would have spent weeks researching them, but right now they were but a fleeting afterthought.

She stalked through the dense bushes, always following the scent of the soul. It was the same smell she got from the stone. The scent of a trapped soul, ready for her to consume. As she danced silently around the bushes, over roots and fallen trees, Hermione mused that maybe Königsberg was trying something else to get her out of her room. She had failed, Remus had failed, so it would not be too much of a stretch to think that the lure of a soul would get her to finally come out of her room.

Hunger silenced those thoughts, though. Hunger and the distinct feeling of having left the wards of the mansion.

There was also the smell of centaur in the air.

***Countess***

Edda was about to possess the wizard when she heard rustling from behind her. It came from the mansion and had she not been trained to hear even the faintest of movements at the danube swamps, she would have missed it completely, so silent was the movement.

She turned her head, but couldn't see much in the direction of the noise. There were only single twigs bending and some dead leaves falling from bushes that told of the invisible body moving through the forest. Given what she knew, Edda figured it was one of the vampires in the mansion who also picked up on the presence of the centaur and wizard.

Edda stretched out her mind and let tendrils of herself caress the mind of the wizard. It was a well protected mind, with strong occlumency. The wizard was no slouch. But she was a Keres, a vengeful spirit and some occlumency wasn't enough to keep her out, should she brute force herself into him. It was this tendril, this connection that told her of the step-by-step retreat. Whatever they were hoping to catch with their lure, they had it.

***Countess***

Hermione growled as she felt the soul walking away from her. At this point it was prey and she was the predator. She was far past the point of hunger overwhelming her. She had tunnel vision, snapped onto the direction of the soul with pinpoint accuracy.

She felt her muscles tense, her knees bow and her magic soar through the air. Like the crack of a bullet sounded the roots she broke as she jumped up into the air, flying through the twigs and leaves. There it was! The stone was held in the hand of a terrified wizard.

The earth shook with the impact of her feet and the air was filled with the screams of the wizard as she jumped at him, claws stretched out and a roar sounding through the entire valley. The man screamed, but it was soon nothing more as gurgling. Her claws ripped into him and the first thing to go was his throat, soon followed by a swing that took his upper body off. Blood from the artery sprayed over the forest floor and Hermione enjoyed the feeling of the warm liquid on her skin. However, all blood and flesh was second to the stone that lay on the floor next to the human goo that was once the wizard.

Hermione bowed down to it. She picked it up as if it was a delicate piece of porcelain. The soul in it was weaker than the one she had tasted in the mansion, but it made no difference. The air began to freeze and her breath formed small clouds in the icy atmosphere. She could already feel the soul panic. It knew it was about to be devoured.

She sucked in and all around her the bloom and foliage died. Pieces of the soul came out of the stone, with small tendrils she could latch onto with her next intake of breath.

Her lungs prepared. The anticipation for the coming was so strong in her, she almost burst in ecstasy. She sucked in and then…

 _Thuck_

The soul wasn't being sucked in and her breath stopped. Hermione let the stone fall to the ground and with it, her gaze wandered down.

She marveled at the sight before her and the old and well known sensation of pain. There in her belly a spear was stuck. It went deep, the grip of the spear almost touching her skin. She grabbed the spear and wanted to pull it out, but then, with great force, another spear flew through the night.

She screamed and roared as the spear went through her shoulder. Her bones shattered from the impact and she couldn't move her right arm anymore. She tried to stand, but another spear, coming from a different angle, shattered her left leg.

Hermione fell to her side. The pain was numbing and when she looked down to her belly, she saw white magic burning her from the inside. Like veins the magic fought its way through her undead body. She could do nothing more than scream.

Scream and look at the centaur that trampled towards her, a spear in his hand, pointed right at her face.

"STIIIIRB!" the centaur shouted as his hooves shook the earth. "Stirb, Fäulnis!" he shouted again.

Despite herself, Hermione gave a choked laugh. She had felt so powerful, so indestructible and now she saw death in the eye in the form of a lowly centaur. It was shameful on one side, but she couldn't bring herself to moan her own impending death. The only regret she had in her mind were the many things left unsaid. She would've liked to talk with Harry, at least once.

With the image of her first true friend in her mind she watched on as the centaur broke through bushes and twigs with his mighty body. He moved as if in slow motion, and his hooves sounded like hammer on an anvil every time they hit the earth.

The centaur roared, lifted his spear and was about to throw it, when suddenly something akin to lightning made the forest flash in blue and white. The next moment, the centaur fell, in his chest a hole the size of a bludger. His body hit the earth like a doll, boneless and dead.

"Your Majesty!" someone shouted from behind her. "Your Majesty!" came again, just before one of the most dangerous looking spirits Hermione had ever seen knelt down next to her.

***Countess***

Edda was sure she would have vomited from the sheer pain she was in. One moment she was in the process of possessing the wizard and in the next, the guy was shishkebab.

 _Rule Number One of possession is to be out of any dying mind._ She remembered her instructor tell her. The pain was blinding and she was glad she hadn't been so far into the possession that her mind would take lasting damage.

Her mind was goo and for a few seconds, her own name eluded her. She fell to her knees, clutching her head and trying to pull herself together. She heard muffled screams that seemed far away, but she couldn't even scream herself.

With all the power she had left she stood back up. "Alright, Edda, come on, focus." she hissed to herself. Slowly creeping, the thought came to her that whatever tore into that wizard may or may not be dangerous to her as well. She summoned her spear and halted as it came into her hand. It felt odd, almost like actual steel.

She tried a step and stumbled. Her balance was completely off and she fell down again. She was annoyed at first, as she noted to herself that she met a new low in her undead existence. Then she felt the earth under her hands, the wetness of the soil, the rocks, needles and bark running over her, just as if she had her skin back.

She looked at her spear. It glowed with a blue hue, with grey and white mist coming from her hand. She knew that feeling and she knew the look of her skin. She had killed SS officers looking like this and made them kill their own families while the same, greyish mist came from her skin.

She felt it, deep inside her, the rage that was once her weapon to wield, cursing through her.

With one quick move she was up again. She was taller, her muscles looked stronger and her hair swirled behind her. It took all her willpower to keep her senses and focus on the here and now. The dead wizard still lay not ten meters from her in a bloody bulp and right beside it another figure that made her proverbial heart skip a beat.

"The Countess!" she hissed. "Goddamnit, the centaurs!"

With a mighty leap she jumped over the bushes. The girl had two long, wooden spears through her that seemed to burn her with some sort of magic. Any lesser being would have been dead by now, but the Countess stood up, just to be felled by another spear.

It was a female centaur, standing in a pillar of moonlight right to her left. With a wail not unlike a banshee's she shot her spear at the half-human. It felt just so right when it left her hand, and so powerful as her own magic sent the spear flying with deadly precision. At impact the spear detonated in blue and white sparks, followed by bone and brain from the female centaur's skull.

She felt him before she heard him, the centaur behind her. She turned, dodged the spear thrusted at her, and used her now clawed hand to rip the belly of the centaur open. Blood and intestines flew through her as she grasped the centaurs spear. The blessed wooden spear burnt her hand, but she didn't have to use it for long. With one swift motion she sent it flying through the night, roughly to where she saw another stallion silhouette. The crunch and scream that ensured when she hit her mark made her grin.

"Shahshok!" she bellowed and from the mist around her formed a new spear. She heard the hooves of another centaur like thunder on the soil. He shouted a mighty battle cry and was about to send his spear into the Countess' head.

"No!" Edda screamed and as if shot by a balliste, her spear ripped through the last centaur. Like a lifeless sack the powerful creature collided with the earth. He was a monster of a centaur and his sheer weight made the earth tremble as he hit the ground.

She only took a moment to enjoy her victory before the body before her took her back to reality. "Your Majesty!"

With only two long leaps she was at the side of the downed Bloodmoon. Edda hadn't seen the girl before, but the sheer power she radiated even in this wounded state left no doubt in her mind. "Your Majesty!" she said once again, hoping to get some sort of reaction from her. Edda felt how the magic of the Countess gave her strength. The headache was gone and even the slight vertigo from the failed possession left Edda. But she also felt that energy fainting, ever so slowly.

Edda didn't know what to do. The spears were deep in her liege and ate away at her. She tried to pull, but they were stuck. "Think, Edda, think, think!" she mumbled, while she searched around her for any solution.

It struck her when she saw the small, blue stone next to a severed, human hand. Quickly she grabbed the stone and held it close to the Countess' mouth. "Eat, your majesty!" she begged, hoping that she did the right thing.

***Countess***

Her shock over the fearful looking spirit was soon gone, replaced by the slight amusement Hermione felt when she saw such a brutal looking spectre sputtering and panicking like a little girl. The spirit tried to pull on the spears, and Hermione winced at the pain of the wood inside her organs. It was like roots slowly growing inside of her, eating away on her undead flesh. They were stuck and even the spectres desperate tries changed nothing about that.

Then the spectre stopped and looked behind Hermione. With one grab she pulled something from there and the next moment, Hermione had the now faint smell of soul in front of her.

"Eat, your majesty!" The spectre's voice was pleading and whimpering. Hermione figured that the Countess dying during one's shift wouldn't look good on the resumè for the next dark creature job. However, her tone aside, Hermione was forever grateful to the spirit.

She took a deep breath and saw the small weeds and saplings around her die from frost. Another desperate intake of breath and she had the first tendril of the soul in her mouth. She already felt the panic of the soul, the feeling of helplessness and it took just another sharp breath to suck it from the stone in her mouth. She gulped and let the soul wander down her body. Even through the pain, the feeling of having eaten gave her a short moment of peace.

Then she felt her power return. It was not much, as the soul was rather small, but it did wonders to get her going. First she focused her magic on the spear in her shoulder. She heard the wood already inside her cracking. Her own magic burned against the white light and the roots inside of her. It was like burning through thick, hard wood, but it worked and Hermione began to feel her arm again. Eventually the spear became covered in black streaks as the wood cracked and charred. Splinters fell away from it and inside the wood one could see a raging fire burn through its very core.

Her arm was soon free and then the process accelerated. With her claws she could cut the spears easily. First she removed the spear from her leg. It burned away like the first, just quicker and more complete. Then she stood up and with both hands she grasped the last spear that went through her belly and pushed a great wave of magic through it. The spear disintegrated into small flakes of charcoal.

Hermione then healed the wounds. The holes closed quickly enough, but deep, white scars in patterns looking like roots were left behind on her skin. She felt how those refused to be covered by her magic, so she let them be, for now. There were more urgent things to do than cosmetics.

She looked down on the now kneeling spirit. The female warrior was a sight to behold. Her hair was white as snow and swirled behind her head as if moved by a storm. Her eyes were of the deepest black and her body was somewhere between corporeal and ghostlike ectoplasm. Magic streamed from her in the form of a fine, white and grey mist that spoke of her brutal power.

"Your name?" Hermione asked.

The spirit gulped. It made Hermione smirk with the thought that she wasn't the only one that didn't completely let go of some mannerisms. "My name is Edda, your majesty. I'm a footsoldier of the Varangian Guard." the spirit said.

"The Chieftess has told me that the Varangian Guard are supposed to be my most loyal."

"We are, your majesty. Once you called, we wasted no time and came right away."

Hermione nodded as she had heard that much already. Ute von Königsberg had made it abundantly clear that the Guard would be the ones most loyal to her. Hermione felt grateful. Now she would have the chance to talk with those she left behind. No matter what they would say, she could at least live on without the uncertainty.

"You saved my life," Hermione said in almost a whisper. "Is there something you wish for? Anything I am able to grant, I will."

"I have only done my duty." Edda answered, bowing even deeper.

Hermione nodded, having expected some answer like that. "Thank you." she said to the spirit.

"I live to serve." Edda answered. She stood up, a tired smile on her face. "And yes, I'm well aware of the irony."

Silence followed that statement. Hermione looked at Edda and she grinned back until Hermione burst out laughing. She chuckled, holding her belly and mouth. Edda tried hard to remain stoic, as a soldier should, but the giggles of the Countess, sounding cheerful and creepy at the same time, eventually got herself chuckling.

"Thats one of the oldest jokes of the Guard." She grinned at Hermione.

"I haven't really… Let's just say I needed a laugh. The last days were…" Hermione stopped when she felt magic. It soared towards them. She raised her arm and with a thought alone, a pulse of her own magic flew against it. Splinters rained down at them. Edda barely dodged a spear-tip.

"We should go, your majesty." Edda said. Hermione admired the way in which the spirit immediately moved to guard her with her own body, but the Countess had other plans. It lingered in the air, the scent of desperation and anger. It had been a long time since she smelled such a aroma; the last time in London fighting an old wizard.

"Watch my back, Edda." Hermione whispered to the ghost.

"What are you…?" Edda tried to hold her back, but the slim fingers of the spectre had no chance of holding Hermione. She leaped into the treetops, where she would be hidden. She quickly asserted the situation. Two wizards and one centaur were left, all of them high on adrenalin and filled to the brim with fear, yet they did not run. She grinned and with slow moves stalked towards them.

The female centaur stood in the center of a clearing, bow at the ready. Every sound made her twitch and at every rustle of leaves made her draw. Right next to her were two wizards in purple robes. One of them, the younger one, was paralyzed in fear. The older one seemed more collected, but Hermione sensed his heart beating fast. She decided then and there to go for the younger one. The centauress and the older man would suffice to satisfy her curiosity. Someone had sent them, someone has had a plan to lure her out and she would know who.

Through the leaves of the tree she sat on, she sent two stunner towards them. They reacted fast, she had to give them that, but not fast enough. The old wizard and the centauress fell, stunned. The young wizard answered with a barrage of desperate spells. Red, blue and yellow spells flew into the tree, but Hermione was long gone. She had apparated behind the boy and amused herself with his frantic spellcasting. When he was done, the tree was devoid of leaves and charmed pink and his panic at not seeing anything come from it made Hermione grin with devilish delight.

"WO BIST?!" he screamed "ZOAG DI!"

"Boo!" she mocked and almost fell over laughing when the boy jumped. With a quick twist of her ankle she summoned his wand. Barely a thought later, the wand was no longer more than strands and the unicorn hair core.

She jumped at him. Her knee hit his stomach and her claws pinned his throat down to the ground. He tried to scream, but nothing more than a weak gurgle came from his mouth. He looked so appetizing, but Hermione could hold herself back for just another moment. She looked into his eyes, blood-red meeting pale green and delved into his mind.

His name was Hannes Gruber, 24 years old and barely out of Auror Academy. He had been a Durmstrang student, average in almost all classes except Charms, and was about to marry. Hermione fed his mind pictures of the ambush and his brain provided her with pictures of his morning. They had gotten a tip from the centaurs and local wizards. His corps was deployed and they had met up with the Hallstatt Herd's warriors. She saw the intimidation the boy had felt when he looked upon the mighty centaur that now had a hole through his body, courtesy of Edda. She also saw his horror at the sight of the spectre and the despair he felt when his corps-leader denied the retreat because he thought Hermione weakened and dying. However, ultimately he was only a low grunt, who happened to have pulled Fate's short straw this morning.

She left his mind, but went even closer to him. She had no more use for him, so his last purpose was to serve as food. Hermione didn't waste any time. She moved close and kissed the boy. He tried to struggle, but her claws dug into his throat whenever he so much as twitched a muscle. She sucked and was surprised at how easily the soul came. There was almost no resistance, even though the sheer panic of the soul and the man were a completely new experience.

If the souls in the stones were afraid of being eaten, the soul of the man was in all out panic. The tendrils of the soul tried to hold on and magic discharged from his hands and skin. It prickled over her as if she was grabbing a weak electric line.

Despite the souls efforts, it glided out of the man and into her mouth. One last intake of breath and it went down her stomach to be devoured with the other soul. Hermione closed her eyes and savored the amazing feeling everywhere in her body. It came to her that it was the first time since her turning that she felt so sated. Two souls in one night and her hunger was gone, completely. Just now she realized how fogged her mind was.

She made a mental note about that, but focused on the task at hand for now. The centauress and the old Auror had to be dealt with. With a wave of her hand she shot ropes at the wizard and bound him. She did the same to the centauress. The ropes connected with the ground and pinned the mighty creature down.

With a Ennervate she woke the centauress. The rich, brown eyes of her looked disoriented until they fell onto Hermione. Then they focused and stared with fear and loathing at Hermione.

"Who are you?" Hermione asked, undisturbed by the hate she felt in the centauress. The half-human just stared back at her with the same fierce scowl.

"I don't think she understands." came the voice of Edda from behind Hermione.

"Yes, I doubt centaurs are big on secondary languages."

"Lass mi gehn! FÄULNIS!" The centauress shouted at Hermione and spit in her direction. Before she could do anything, the blunt side of Edda's spear smacked the centauress hard against the ribs.

"Halte dein Mund!" Edda said. She turned to Hermione who just smiled at the spirit with a questioning look.

"She called you a 'corruption', your majesty." Edda explained. "Given who you are to us, I took that as a personal insult."

"What am I to you, exactly?" Hermione asked. "I never really got a clear answer to that. It's always 'You are the Bloodmoon' or something like that. What am I to you, in your words?"

Edda looked back at the still crouching Countess. She kept silent for a few seconds, thinking about what to say. However, the answer was as simple as it was meaningful to the spectre.

"Purpose, your majesty." she said. "To us you are purpose. Guarding you, fighting for you, gives us duty and honor. I'm just a simple woman, so maybe that answer is too easy. Maybe you should ask the commander?"

"No," Hermione stood up. Her gaze didn't leave the centauress who still leered hateful up at her. "No, I think that answer is the first good one I got." With a flick of her wrist she stunned the centauress again and with a wave, she levitated both her and the wizard. "We should give those to someone who can speak German. I need to know who they work for and I don't dare go into their mind, lest I destroy it. Veritaserum would be better."

"I'll see to it, your majesty."

They barely left the clearing when they heard voices shouting through the night. They came closer at a rapid pace. Edda was preparing her spear, ready to throw, but Hermione held her arm down. "Those are our guys."

Just as she said that, a vampire came running through the bushes. He looked as if he had been pulled straight from the bed with his outfit that merely consisted of jeans and a tank-top. A smile of relief was on his face when he saw them. With a quick spell he shot green spark in the sky, before he bowed deep before Hermione. "Your majesty, we were worried."

"Why so?" Hermione said, while she smiled at Edda. "I was merely out for a snack."

They walked back to the mansion. On the way Hermione gathered more and more people around her. She wagered a guess that close to the entire mansion was on their feet because of her. It took them about half an hour to get back to the mansion.

Saying the mansion was busy wouldn't do it justice. People ran around like they were hunted. Important looking people barked orders and shouted at each other while in the middle of it all Ute von Königsberg stood silent with a small council of different people. Lupin was by her side, keeping lower wolves from disturbing the Chieftess. It all came to a grinding halt when Hermione walked into the entry hall, with Edda on her side and the wizard and centauress floating behind her.

"Your majesty!" the Chieftess quickly freed herself from the people around her and came running to Hermione. Anyone else and she would've torn their arms out, but the touch of the Chieftess on her cheeks was a welcome gesture for Hermione.

"Are you hurt?" the Chieftess asked while she touched the scars left from the spears.

"No, I'm well. But I was reckless." It was embarrassing for Hermione and she couldn't quite meet the eyes of the Chieftess. "My hunger drove me. They lured me out with a soulstone like the one you gave me. If Edda here hadn't been around…" Hermione gestured at the spectre who had been pulled aside by what seemed to be some of her superiors. "If she hadn't come to my aid, I would've been done for."

The Chieftess looked as if she was about to shout at her. Hermione would've understood, but then again, neither of the two wanted any more of a scene. "Let's go to our private quarters. Our two guests will be brought to the dungeons."

Hermione nodded and let the two stunned prisoners drop on the floor. They were dragged over the marble floor, down the stairs to the cellar where the entry to the dungeons was. The Chieftess took the stairs up to the first level, with Hermione close after her. Soon the noise of the entry hall became only a murmuring sound in the distance as they walked through several layered silencing charms. The hallway led close to her own bedchamber, but a few doors before that, the Chieftess took a turn into the lounge.

It was a comfortable room, with brown leather couches and an velvet armchair. Hermione let herself fall into the soft fabric of the chair and let out a loud sigh. The excitement left her with the air from her lungs. She closed her eyes. Finally, she thought, there was some clarity in her mind. She let the memories of the night run through her mind and just now she realized what a blur it all was before she had eaten.

"What am I to do with you, Hermione?" The Chieftess had taken a seat right in front of her on the brown leather couch. Next to her on the table stood a tumbler full of clear liquid that smelled like the strong schnaps that seemed to be so typical for the region. "When the alarm went off and you weren't in your room, I feared the worst."

"Why?" Hermione asked.

"What do you mean 'why'?" the Chieftess took her glass and sipped at the strong alcohol. "You are my Queen. I am..."

"But why am I your Queen? Why am I so important to so many different people? Why do people like you, leader of powerful magical Empires, bow to me?" Hermione had stood up from the armchair and was no pacing through the room. Her claws tapped on her lower arms scales like a clockwork.

"You are the Bloodmoon, the Countess." the Chieftess answered with a face as if Hermione had just asked her if the sky was blue.

"But what does that mean?" Hermione countered. "You say this as if it should mean something to me, when it doesn't." She fell down onto the armchair again. Hermione's head hung low and it took her a fortifying breath to keep from yelling. "Then again," she continued, "I haven't been very interested in it either. Probably because it all was such a blur."

"What changed?" The Chieftess had put her glass down and was leaning forward to Hermione.

"I had my first living soul today."

"One of the wizards?"

"Yes," she answered "the youngest of the three. It was so easy. My head became so clear afterwards."

The Chieftess nodded, she gestured Hermione to continue and already sat on the edge of the couch.

"When the centaurs got me with their spears I thought about a few things. Things I would leave behind when whatever magic they had on those things was done eating me up."

"What are those things?"

Hermione just shook her head, despite the pleading look on the Chieftess face. "Not yet. I want to sleep about it; think further on it before I decide. All I have right now are three request."

"Anything, just tell me what you need." The Chieftess said, eager to please Hermione.

"The first; I need parchment, ink and an owl for a letter. I have left behind someone and I need to write to him."

"Your majesty,... Hermione, contact to the outside world could be dangerous."

"I must write to him." Hermione shot the Chieftess a sharp look. She would not be denied. "I must know where we stand, if he is alright. Deliver it however you deem safe, but I need this letter and the answer delivered."

The Chieftess sighed and rubbed her chin in thought. "I think I can arrange safe communication. It's a hassle, but if this letter is really so important…"

"It is."

"Very well then," the Chieftess took a piece of parchment from the table and wrote a quick note on it. "The second request?"

"I want to decide my guard."

"That can be arranged. Honestly, I look forward to put an end to that constant bickering. What is your third request?"

There was a small smile on Hermione as she glanced at the eager eyes of the Chieftess. She had forgotten about it, just as much as she had nearly forgotten herself. Countess or not, she was Hermione Granger. If a problem arose, there was but one solution.

"I need absolutely every book in existence about the Bloodmoon and all those who follow me."

***Countess***

Edda sat in what she felt was probably the hundredth interrogation by whomever deemed himself important enough to talk down to her. It had started with Captain Cladius and ended with some old hag that for some reason was mightily offended by having a centauress imprisoned in her potion lab.

She was currently sitting through an earful from a czech vampire and at that point she truly mulled over how a spirit could commit suicide. It was a tough order, but a few more of these idiots talking down on her and she would give anything to end it.

Like her prayer was heard, the High Priestess Königsberg walked into the room, silencing everyone with her presence alone. However, Edda's cheer was short lived as she saw that the werewolve leader was headed her way. She was about to say something, but the Chieftess held up her hand, effectively silencing her.

"You are Edda?" she asked. The entire room was listening.

"Yes, High Priestess." Edda answered.

"You left quite the impression with the Countess." she said. Edda was unsure if she liked the smile the werewolve wore.

"I did my duty." Edda said, making several people in the room scoff. "My liege was in danger and I stopped the attackers. Anyone here would have done the same."

"Ja… but not everybody did, now did they?" The Chieftess smiled. "Which is why it is you, and not anybody else, who was chosen by the Countess to man her personal Guard. You will report at sunset at the Countess' lounge. Speak with . He will show you your new quarters."

With that the Chieftess left a stunned Edda standing in the middle of the hall. She waited until the High Priestess had left the room before she started to jump around the hall and up the stairs towards the Countess' quarters, whooping and flipping the bird to the czech vampire.

 **Translations:**

" **Won kummts?" - "When does she arrive?"**

" **I woas ned, oba mia san ned auf da Flucht." - "I don't know, but we aren't in a hurry."**

" **Da Bluadmond muas sterbn. 'S ko ned sei das ia so long brauchts." - "The Bloodmoon must die. It's intolerable that you would take that long!"**

" **Heast nua di Rua. Sie wirds scho riachn. Und wenns donn do is, donn is hi." - "Listen, just stay calm. She is going to smell it. When she comes, she's going to die."**

" **STIIIIRB!" - "DIIIE!"**

" **Stirb, Fäulnis!" - "Die, Corruption!"**

" **WO BIST?!" he screamed "ZOAG DI!" - "Where are you?!" "Show yourself!"**

 **Thank you all for reading. Now that my masters degree is ⅓ done, my schedule allows for more writing. The Salem Settlement will get the next update after this, then follows another for The Art and Craft of Necromancy.**

 **I know there is a lot of German in this chapter. Please tell me if you think its too much.**

 **Anyway, fav and review and all that fuzz. You know the drill.**

 **Hail Cthulhu!**


	9. Chapter 9

***Countess***

 **12\. September 1996**

 _Dear Harry,_

 _I do not know how to write this letter and I am already on my tenth try. The sun is high up in the sky by now and I'm feeling it's light tire me. Do you feel it too? I bet you do, if you're not sleeping till sunset, anyway._

 _First off, because I know you, I want you to know that I don't blame you for what happened at the Ministry. It was our decision to follow you and the consequences of our actions are our own fault. I know you're shaking your head right now, but you must not blame yourself for the decisions of others._

 _This is where I have problems writing this letter. These consequences we have to live with now, if you can even call it living. Not even the English language has fitting words for our situation. Unliving? Undead? Inbetween? What are we?_

 _In my path of finding out who I was now, I did horrible things. I will keep on doing horrible things because as I found out, that is who I am now. I feast on the living. That is a fact. Would I not, I would lose my strength, my magic and eventually my life. I don't want to die. I refuse._

 _There are many things I cannot write to you about. I am the Countess, which is something known by many, but understood by few. Crazy things have happened. Maybe it sooths your worries, maybe it doesn't, but I have found people who help me. Well, they have found me, really._

 _Maybe you'd rather see me dead, as so many others out there. In that case be assured that I understand. However, maybe your own situation can give you a glimpse of what it is like. You have hunted, haven't you? Maybe not, though. The vampires around me tell me that they have heard through the grapevine that you have found some sort of sanctuary. Some even say you've found family. Is that true? Do you like it there? I certainly hope so._

 _They also said you had a battle with Dumbledore. Some can't imagine him being angry, not even among the people I'm with now, but I have seen it. He wanted to kill me in 's. That is why I ran. That is why I went on a rampage through Britain. Just as my nature is to blame, Dumbledore is to blame for releasing it. I should've been guided. I was deprived of that chance and many had to pay for it. Maybe you understand? You have been through a similar transformation._

 _I would love to talk to you. About our lives, about this new world we were thrown into. I miss you. I miss many things and people, but most of all I miss you, my first friend. Some days, when I sleep, I see you lying on the Ministry floor, dying as a vampire feasts on you. That image, and many images from the days and weeks following - they haunt me._

 _Even if you hate me. Please, tell me you're alright. Tell me you're cared for and continuing your studies. I miss you, but most of all, I worry for you._

 _Love,_

 _Hermione_

Harry sat alone in one of the many pavilions of the manor's park. The residents of Black Manor were celebrating one of their many feasts. Vampires were hedonists, Harry had found in his days at the manor, and as much as he tried to deny it, he did enjoy these parties, even if, or rather, especially because he never was the focus of them. Wine and blood was drunk until the morning, and even then, some just moved to the catacombs beneath the manor to continue. People danced and laughed and more often than not, Harry saw some couples vanish in the bushes or in their rooms.

Today, however, he didn't feel like celebrating. The letter in his hand, delivered by a banshee of all things, had soured his mood further than his original plans. He felt the muscles on his face cramp up as they decided between frowning, scowling, smiling and some other expressions. He didn't know what to do with it. On one hand, Hermione was his best friend. She shared a fate with him; was also undead. On the other hand he had seen what she could do, and needed to do to continue living. Even the muggles had a ridiculous name for her, Cannibal Candice, with experts already naming her in one sentence with the Ripper. Their headcount didn't include the wizards, goblins, centaurs and mermen that fell prey to her. It had been a massacre.

Had he been anyone else, he wouldn't even consider answering her, let alone forgiving her. But he was Harry Potter, vampire of the Black Clan and someone who was also supposed to prey on the living. He had felt the urge and could only imagine what a primal lust for blood it would have become, had he not been fed his daily dose.

He folded the letter back up and packed it in one of the inside pockets of the fine silken suit he had selected for the evening. It was time to go back to the manor, for the meeting he had dreaded since he came here. Heavy felt his steps as he walked towards the manor. On his way he snatched a glass of Vino Sangue from one of the many tablets that hovered in the garden. With one gulp he fortified his nerves.

At the garden entrance of the manor he met Isla Black. No words were spoken. Harry didn't speak since he really didn't feel like it. Isla didn't because she could clearly read the emotional turmoil her initiate was in.

She led him down a few flights of stairs. They didn't lead to the catacombs, like the big set of stairs in the main hall did. These smaller stairs led down to the dungeons, if one could call them that. Once they had descended three levels of nothing but black stone and storage rooms, they came to a hold in front of a mighty steel gate, locked with a multitude of locks and chains of all varieties.

"You will enter alone, as you wished." Isla said. "I just urge you to remain cautious."

Harry just nodded as answer. Cautious he would be.

Isla waved her wand in a complex figure and spoke a long chain of numbers as a password. Once finished the locks and chains began opening and retracting to the side of the gate. It's perfectly oiled hinges barely made a sound as the gate opened.

With another nod to Isla, Harry entered. He heard the gate close behind him, the chain rattling as they locked him in the room. The entire thing had the looks of a hybrid between comfortable lounge, library and bedroom in one. The walls, drapes and carpets were in a strong red, while the rest of the room was furnished with luxurious oaken couches, armchairs and poster-bed. The many frames on the walls showed soft and calming landscapes, illuminated by orange light that gave the room a relaxing tinge.

The vampires had many names for this room, but Isla herself used just one. The Turning Room was its name, which didn't leave much to the imagination when one tried to figure out what happened in it. Humans are brought into this room and vampires came out.

Harry searched the room for the one he was looking for. He heard her before he saw her, coughing and retching in one of the armchairs turned away from the gate. She sat in front of a roaring fire in an elegant fireplace that roughly resembled the one in the Gryffindor Common Room. ' _Probably the reason she chose this wall to stare at'_ he mused.

He took careful steps around the armchair. Eventually he saw what she held in her hands that made her retch like that. After a few days of tasting fresh blood, the smell of old blood was something he knew all too well and that made his features twist in disgust.

"Fresh is better. Much better." he whispered. His low voice could be heard through the entire room. Next to the fire cracking the wood, his voice carried as her body stiffened and the hand holding the glass came to rest in mid air.

Harry came further around the chair and sat down in the one right next to it. The sight before him left him gobsmacked. Minerva McGonagall. He knew - he had heard that vampirism restores the youth of the body. Yet, seeing the once old Professor, looking back at him from a wrinkle-free, stunning face left him speechless. Unlike his speech, his muscles remained ready. He had never, ever seen the Professor that angry and his legs were ready to jump; his instincts on high alert.

She stared at him with her green eyes, surrounded by black. Her thinning lips were still covered in blood. Her brown hair was untamed, wild, like the beast she had to incorporate into herself during the last week.

"Professor…" Harry whispered.

"Not anymore," she hissed. "Thanks to you, Mr. Potter."

"I…"

"No apologies. This is your fault and I do not care for your small words explaining what imbecilic reasoning..." She smashed the glass down on the table, hard enough to break it at the bottom. The glass fell over and spread the blood over the fine oaken table. "But then again, I wonder… why?"

Harry gulped, even though it barely did anything. "Dumbledore." he said.

"Explain,"

"He used this spell. I can't recall if I even heard its name. It was like the sun. I couldn't think of anything. My chest hurt so much…"

"Alastor hit you with a Helios curse." she stated.

"Yes, " Harry touched his sides where his skin was still sensitive to the touch. "I was barely conscious. Then I bit you. I remember the taste of you, but not much after that. I just knew that biting you, that… that … making you one of… us. It would stop him from casting."

"Did it?"

"Yes,"

Silence followed. Harry didn't dare say anything, lest he would disturb Minerva in her musings. She looked at her hands, twisted them around as if to make sure they would stay youthful, slender and with perfect, pale skin. "I tried crying, but tears wouldn't come." she whispered. "Then I started raging. That came easier. But I'm burnt out now."

"I eventually just tried to accept what I became. Still doing so, but well…"

"The difference, Mr. Potter, is that you are sixteen, while I am sixty. I have lived. In many ways, I'm done living. It's something completely different for me to be confronted with the fact that my life will now last until the Earth stops spinning." Suddenly she jumped up and started pacing the room. The glass in her hand cracked, as her knuckles whitened with the tight grip she had on it. "All I wanted to do, until the day I stopped waking up, was to teach children Transfiguration. My only endeavor, my only wish for the future was that, maybe, one day, Albus would grant me the position of headmistress by stepping down. That was all!" With a snarl that presented her long and strong looking fangs, she smashed the glass against a wall.

Once again Harry didn't dare say a word. What could he say? Apologies and pleads hung in his mind, but none of that would strike a chord with his ex-Professor. Instead he just kept looking at her. He observed as her stiff stance relaxed until she fell to her knees. He saw her body rocking in silent sobs that would never again be accompanied by tears.

Harry and crying women. He was never good with them and seeing Minerva McGonagall sob through her sorrows was even more awkward for him. Still, he tried to at least follow once given advice, in theory. He made his way to her, knelt down and started to rub his hand in circles over her back, just like Hermione once did for him.

"What will you do now?" Harry asked.

"That is the question, isn't it?" she looked up at him, her face as he had never seen it before. Harry doubted that any student at Hogwarts had ever seen Minerva McGonagall so helpless. After a while she sobered and her stoic, stern face once more took hold. "It was my understanding that the Lady Black would grant me housing here if I agree to continue working as a teacher at the manor. Is that true?"

"Yes," Harry nodded. "I think there is already a room prepared."

"Good. My home has been Hogwarts, but I would find no warm welcome there."

"But, haven't I been allowed? I'm sure if you'd ask…"

"No, Mr. Potter. You were an exception, like you always seem to be."

"Why?"

"Because Albus thought you were the key to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I was sceptical myself and now that I feel the lust for blood, I must say that Albus played an even more dangerous game than I initially thought."

Harry just nodded in answer. It fit with the treatment he had gotten from the Order. Silence stretched out between them, only disturbed by the rustling of Minerva's clothes as Harry's hand kept circling on her back and the fire that kept on eating on the wood.

Eventually Harry looked up into Minerva's eyes again. "You didn't try to hurt me." Then he laughed. "You even yelled at Moody for doing so."

"Naturally, Mr. Potter."

"I just don't understand, is all. You didn't fire anything, not even a stunner. I don't remember all details, but I can't recall you casting anything."

Minerva stood up. Her arms were tightly wrapped around her middle, her eyes downcast. Her fingers clawed at the robes she wore. She looked like a trapped animal when she walked back to the armchair and curled up in it, almost as if to build a wall between her and Harry.

Harry too, stood up. But he remained standing where he was, hands in his pockets. "It just seemed weird to me, you know?"

"Not just to you, Mr. Potter." she mumbled. "But I dare say the details I found unnerving differ from those that caught your eye. It was a… shock, yes a shock for me to be part of this… this… manhunt. Don't get me wrong, I believe… believed? I believed that you were safe in Hogwarts. I came with them when Albus sounded the alarm. I was… paralyzed… enraged, when Alastor shot that curse at you."

"But why would he? I've asked. The Helios curse, its…"

"Lethal, yes. Crafted by wizards long ago, the Helios curse is the main weapon against vampires. Conjured and focused sunlight. Its use… it shone a light on Albus' motives. A light that made some shadows appear that I hoped were long gone, if you understand."

"Not really, no."

"Nevermind, then. Another time. It is still too fresh, and I just… I cannot. Not now."

"Its alright, Profe… uhm…"

"Just call me Minerva." She looked up at him, a small smile on her face. "May I call you Harry?"

"Of course... Minerva." He finally felt that he could come closer. Minerva relaxed on her armchair, at least enough to make her position look somewhat comfortable. He took a seat on the armchair next to hers. "How have you been? I mean in the last week?"

"Not well, as you can imagine." She sighed and shot a quick, disgusted glance at a crystal flask with red liquid in it. "You say that fresh blood tastes better?"

"A lot better."

"Good enough to fraternize with the enemy?"

"What?"

"Rumors travel fast within these walls, I have learnt that much during the last week."

"Minerva, I…"

"I what? I have found a taste for Death Eater? Is that it? Have you forgotten who she is, what she did?"

"No…" Harry whispered. "No, I haven't. I just… I don't know." His throat went dry. He almost couldn't hold the gaze of Minerva, but the fact that she kept the small smile on her lips kept his head up.

"It has been explained to me, Harry." she said "It is a strange concept, and even stranger is that I will have to take part in it. I'm just saying…" Minerva waved with her hands, searching for words. "I'm saying, be careful. I know that now, as vampires, we have to use other measurements. She still is a Death Eater, though. She killed, out of her own free will. She is a murderer, torturer, arsonist and so many more cruel things."

"I meet her, at dawn." Harry mumbled. He swiped his hands on the armchair, as if to swipe away sweat that wasn't and would never be there. His eyes were unfocused, like his mind when the many possible outcomes of the meeting flashed before his inner eye. "I'm scared." he admitted. "Of both possibilities. I'm scared of her saying yes, I'm scared of her saying no. I… I'm… just scared. I don't know what to do in either case."

Minerva sighed. "I cannot answer you. However, there is opportunity there you should not miss."

"Beg your pardon?"

"Bellatrix Black, is _the_ most dangerous Death Eater in the ranks of Lord Voldemort. If I understood correctly, you have the unique chance to strip her away from their ranks and into ours, severely weakening their forces."

"You _are_ Minerva McGonagall, right?" Harry asked, his eyebrows raised.

She snorted at his expression, but sobered quickly. "Harry, I haven't been one of Albus' Seconds because I'm so very good at Transfiguration. He has the magic locked down, I got the pragmatics. We have a situation and we'll do the best we can to get the most out of it."

"That is _such_ a Slytherin thing to say, I'm surprised you can talk like that without cringing."

"Believe me, Harry, I'd much rather stand against the Death Eaters on the battlefield, but alas, they are truly Slytherins and one has to adapt to the enemy. Wars are seldom won by force alone. Cunning and intelligence, as well as a certain ruthlessness to seize every possible advantage available. Those are the keys to win wars."

"But where exactly do you think we stand now? As far as I can tell, the Clan is happy to keep out of it. There will probably be some backlash if Bellatrix stays, but I don't believe Voldemort would risk making an enemy out of one of the biggest vampire Clans in Europe."

Minerva nodded slowly. "That is all true. However, you forget that Voldemort is not entirely rational in his decisions. The proof of this claim sits in front of me. He insists on killing you himself. Insists on it with the promise of punishment by death for anyone of his followers who would dare steal from him this kill."

"I would not have survived had they all been shooting Killing Curses at me." Harry said. He nodded to himself. It maybe was a morbid thing to think about, but nonetheless the truth of the matter. Had even half of the present Death Eaters opened fire on him at the graveyard, he wouldn't have lived to become a vampire. "His pride, more than anything, saved me."

"Exactly. As brilliant a mage he is, he is also a fool when it comes to strategy. He is arrogant, now even more so than last time and he always had a flair for the dramatic, let me tell you. Had Dumbledore not steered our side towards an almost pacifistic approach, the first war wouldn't have taken a turn for the worst."

"So you say we prepare for the day he moves against the Clan. Have you talked about this with the Lady Black?"

"I have." Minerva leaned forward to Harry.

Harry leaned towards her as well, his eyebrow raised. "What did she say?"

Minerva met his eyes. She took a breath, more out of a habit to fortify oneself than out of need, and then said with her most commanding voice. "We need Bellatrix. And we need you to make it happen."

***Countess***

It was dawn. He felt it like a weight pulling down on him. The sun was banishing the creatures of the night into their hideouts. Harry wanted to go to bed, wanted to just lie down and wait for the moon to come out again. It was not to be, unfortunately. Instead of in his bed, he was in a saloon, sitting on a red velvet armchair and waiting for the one who would occupy the one opposite to him.

Now it would only be a short while until Bellatrix Black entered the building and Harry felt more nervous with every minute passing by. He remembered his talks with Remus about fear. Not knowing produced fear. Ignorance was like wet and warm places for the fungus of fear, creeping into every corner, every crack and hole in the mind, enrooting itself there. The longer it grew, the harder it was to remove.

Harry feared what this meeting at dawn would bring. He knew nothing about Bellatrix Black. He didn't count the many accounts of people who have once seen her, or other such testimonies. Of those he had enough, all contradicting themselves. The vampires who had seen her with the Dark Lord around described her as obedient fanatic, an amazingly violent psychopath who only got more dangerous due to her masterful skills with Dark Magic and Dueling.

Those who knew her as family, such as Isla Black, remembered her as a disturbed, difficult , but highly intelligent girl and eventually woman, weighed down, but never broken by her parent's demands of her. Isla bemoaned that Cygnus Black had never allowed Bellatrix to pursue her masteries. Had he done so, who knows what would have happened to her. Maybe she would have worked with Bill as a cursebreaker? Maybe she would have joined the ranks of the Unspeakables and researched the very depths of magic? But alas, she had been urged to walk fast down the road to marriage and pregnancy, the second which was never to be due to irreversible curse damage to her lower body.

The last perspective and honestly the one he trusted the least was the angle from which her enemies had seen her. The lack of difference between her enemies and allies, however, disturbed him. Was she a psychopath? Harry did not know, and hated that fact. Was she dangerous? Definitely.

So Harry made sure he had his wand and several paths of escape from the saloon. The three doors to adjourning rooms and the main corridor were unlocked, with vampires waiting on the other side just in case. If worst came to worst he could still just overwhelm her with superior strength.

"Yeah, keep telling that to yourself." Harry hissed at his own mind. "She'd probably just curse me to a pulp should I try."

That cheerful thought in mind he waited until the door from the main corridor clicked. Harry looked up and saw Isla come in. She had a small smile on her face. Harry took some courage from that.

"Is she here?" he asked.

"Yes, right outside. Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." Harry gulped, though no spit would come down his throat it was still a habit. He steeled his nerves and watched as Isla waved someone into the room before leaving.

The moment she entered, Harry smelled her. It was that same scent as in the hall, wild and overwhelming. Her clothes had the aroma of an especially harsh and smokey Scotch on her. She wore perfume that smelled like roses, but the dominating scent was her blood streaming through her veins.

In a daze he stood up to greet her. His face found into a genuine smile at her presence. All doubt was gone and all fear of her with it. He needed her and her blood. "Miss Black. Thank you for coming." Harry gestured her to the armchair opposite of his. "May I offer you a drink?"

"Whiskey," she ordered. The moment she said that a small houselve popped into the room and placed a fine bottle of Scotch on the table between them. Bellatrix filled a goof three fingers into the tumbler and took a deep gulp from it before she focused onto Harry.

His eyes never left her. He took her in, starting from her throat, but soon looking her over. She was meticulously dressed, as was expected of her. She wore a black dress, a black corset and black gloves that went up her arms. Her hair was as wild as ever, flowing in locks over her shoulder and partly over her face. It was obvious why when he saw the scar tissue over her right eye.

"I think we both know why I'm here, Potter."

Harry shook his head once to clear it. He had truly been caught off guard, but recovered fast enough. "Yes, of course. I apologize, I've been… unprepared."

"For what?"

"For you, of course. Or rather, for what the smell of your blood would do to my senses."

She nodded as her eyes roamed over him. "So it is true? You have the same... "

"Longing?" Harry offered.

"I suppose," She shrugged. "So what are we going to do about this, Potter?"

Harry leaned back into his armchair. Having his back on the lean reminded him to hold back. Though, it was a hard task. Her blood was screaming for him. It was almost maddening to sit so close, but not indulge. "Obviously I cannot come with you," he started.

"Obviously,"

"So the only possible solution I see is you leaving Voldemort."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes at him. She gave a short, dry laugh that never reached her eyes. "The Dark Lord has lost much of his appeal. I thought you would have been briefed, Potter."

"I heard your husband filed the divorce after the… the events in the Ministry."

"You may as well say it. After your mudblood bitch got rabid and tore me up like a present on Yule." Bellatrix growled and took another big gulp from her whiskey. "I almost became a vampire, but in the end just suffered severe wounds. Ever since then my Lord mistrusted me."

"Why are you still calling him your Lord?" Harry was able to ignore the use of mudblood for now, figuring the word was as normal to her as any. Though her use of Voldemort's title did not sit right with him.

Bellatrix just shrugged as her first response. She looked around the room, never really seeing the fine decor and furniture. She contemplated, and with every second her body sagged more and more. "Habit, I suppose." she finally said. "And I haven't yet changed allegiance."

"Would you?" Harry leaned forward. His jaw cramped up. His instincts were pushing and beating against his control, provoked by the steady waft of her blood's scent.

She mirrored him, leaning forward. Her eyes shone with violet fire as she whispered in furious hisses. "I know you would claim me. But you will be as addicted to me as I will be to your bite."

Harry nodded with a twitch of his head.

"I will not be enslaved by you, Potter and I. Don't. Share."

"What do you want, Black?"

"You will not assume superiority over me. I am my own person. You will not take blood from those sluts in the featshall. My throat will be the only one for you."

Harry's eyes gleamed with every one of her words. "You will be loyal to me?" he asked, his voice as much a hiss as hers. "Your allegiance to Voldemort will be canceled, then? You will have to fight. Voldemort will not stop hunting me. Do you understand that?"

Bellatrix stood up with one, quick and fluid move. She pressed Harry back into the armchair. With a elegant wave of her hand she removed her wild hair from her throat. Harry growled in anticipation. "Do what you did in the hall." She whispered in his ear. "I want this feeling, again and again and again. Do it."

All negotiation was forgotten. Harry could only smell her blood, only see her throat and those words whispered in his ears made all other thoughts meaningless. With unnatural speed he latched onto her throat and drove his fangs into her skin and flesh. Blood began to pool in his mouth, wetted his tongue and tastebuds.

Once again her entire body shuddered with the sensation. Her hand on the back of head forced him to keep drinking, while the other hand dug into his back. No sorrow, no doubt or worry survived the onslaught of bliss he gained from her blood. Who would think, who would doubt, when all good things one had every experienced danced around his mind and senses, caressing him down to his very soul.

When he felt like he was truly full, an almost alien sensation for him after all these weeks, he let go of her. He was in a daze, but it seemed Bellatrix wasn't in a much better condition. She kept clinging to him. His tender kiss to close the wound made her give a slow, husky moan. She rose her head to look him in the eyes. Harry was baffled at her small, tired smile.

"I understand, Potter. Promise me I will be the only one and I will pledge my life to you."

"I promise." he breathed.

"So do I." she whispered before she let her mouth crash against his own in a deep and passionate kiss.

***Countess***

When the sun hid behind the horizon once again, Harry slowly came back from his deep sleep. He stared at the ceiling of the four poster he lay in, processing those things he had done. Now it was quite clear why he had taken Bellatrix bridal style to his room and rolled with her through the sheets for hours on end. He had been in a rush, a high from her blood, but now she had accepted it, embraced it even, instead of running away. It felt so absolutely right to take her, make her his own. It wasn't even a conscious decision for the most part. He had growled at a vampire who had dared even show a sign of taking her from him. Yes, he figured, last day had definitely been dominated by his instincts.

Why Bellatrix had reacted so, he didn't know. He did not speculate, lest he would assume things that were far from the truth. He still didn't know her enough to form an image of her character. However, he did know that only feasting on her would not be a problem.

He looked down his body, only to find her head resting on his chest. Her arms were locked on his body, even clawing into it. She looked peaceful like this. He could see the long scar over the right top of her head. It was red against her alabaster skin and spoke volumes about how vicious vampiristic poison truly is. It was an ugly scar, yet he couldn't help but trace it with his fingers. Further down her body he saw even more of them. He remembered her entire upper body, chest, belly and back, being full of the scars. Her arms were covered with them and Harry understood why she had worn those gloves and why she had been reluctant to get rid of them when they had reached the bed. Even in their shared state of addictive rush, she didn't want the world to see the marks of her defeat.

His right hand felt the pattern of scars on her back, from her behind to her shoulders and back. Then it hit him rather hard, the realization that he had lost his virginity to Bellatrix Black. It had been hard enough to die a virgin, but he wasn't quite sure how Sirius would use this one to tease him. Would he even tease him? Harry grimaced as he admitted that it was much more likely Sirius would have his head for it.

He started when he suddenly saw her two violet eyes staring at him. She didn't flinch. She didn't even move all that much. Only her death grip loosened, leaving deep marks on his skin. She mumbled something into his chest, but Harry couldn't quite hear it.

"Uhm… good morning." Harry tried.

She squinted her eyes, but didn't answer. Her fingers scratched over his chest while she seemed to think about something with all her mind.

"Did you… uhm… last night..."

She slapped a hand over his mouth, shutting him up. Then she pressed a kiss on his cheek, stood up and with a punch against his chest declared. "Well, at least you're an acceptable fuck, Potter. Stand up, I'm hungry."

With that she dressed in knickers and one of his t-shirts, kicked open the door to the private quarters and left without waiting for him.

Harry kept staring at the door she had just vanished through. "Acceptable?" he mouthed.

He made to get up, grabbed a shirt and boxers and went after her to the living quarters. There she already sat on a couch, drinking tea while a houseelve piled croissants onto her plate. The little thing quickly got him a bowl of blood pops, but Harry didn't quite register even taking it.

He plummeted down onto an armchair next to the couch. "Acceptable?" he asked a bit louder.

"What? Think your virgin broom can already fly the distance? Aww, little Potter thinks he can play with the big girl. Adorable."

Harry narrowed his eyes and a cheeky smirk went over his face. "So that were screams of disappointment last day, my little pincushion?"

"Pincushion?"

"Yep, that's gonna be my pet name for you." Harry threw a bloop-pop into his mouth, laughing at the dumbfound expression on Bellatrix. "I stuck my teeth in you so much, the name fits, doesn't it?"

"You will not call me pincushion." she growled.

Harry indulged in another candy before he waved his hand at her and answered with a wide, cheeky grin. "Now, now, but it's such a good name for you, Pincushion."

She smashed her teacup on the table, stood up and almost jumped him so fast did she move. She pressed her entire weight against him until she was face to face to Harry. "Do you think it's a good idea to provoke me?"

On Harry's side of things he thought it was a brilliant idea, especially when he got his breakfast delivered to him like that. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her onto him. The strength of a vampire did help, but once Bellatrix noticed where his head moved she seized to push back. Once more he bit into her and let the amazing feeling of her blood wash over him. Though he made it short. He had drunk so much of it during their 'negotiations' that he feared for her system should he consume any more.

"So, what now? You're going to drink from me every time I get angry?" she asked, though her voice had the bliss in it she got from his poison. It was as if it worked like a sedative. Instead of anger at her name, she began to snuggle into him and started playing with his jawline.

"Does it work?" Harry asked, stopped to think for a moment, and then added. "Pincushion?"

"A little…" she said and pouted.

Harry was a little taken aback at that. Seeing Bellatrix Black pout was like seeing Ron holding a lecture. It just didn't seem right. He made a mental note to ask the Lady Black just how strong a vampires poison can be, but for now just enjoyed having her in a state of civility.

He felt her hand travel down his chest and grinned, expecting another round. It travelled further down, over his belly and finally over his boxers.

"AAAARGH!" he screamed when she took his balls and squeezed. Her hands were like iron claws, relentless in their grasp. Harry could only give a silent scream from his opened mouth. Meanwhile Bellatrix had her mouth right next to his ears. She whispered. "One thing you must get into your cute little head, _Harry._ I'm not one of your Hogwarts broom closet sluts." She squeezed even tighter and Harry could only cramp up in pain. "We may be addicted to each other and yes, you're good entertainment in the sheets, but get on my nerves and I'll make your life an eternal nightmare. Do you hear me?"

"Yes…" he wheezed.

"Well then," she quipped and pressed a smooch on his cheeks. She released his balls and Harry groaned as the pain in his private area subsided. "I'll get ready. Aunt Isla said she wants to speak with us, yesterday." With that she stood up and left for the bathroom.

Harry whimpered as he held his privates in pain. _Note to self, don't call her pincushion. Ever._ He laughed at his own idiocy - about simply forgetting that he was speaking with Bellatrix Black, not some girl he had dated. He shook his head at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. Truly, about the madness that has become his life, he could only laugh.

Though, on the bright side, she did just call him Harry, now didn't she?

 **At long last, another chapter. Sporadic, I know, but I can't really spend more time on it. Hope you enjoyed this little get together with Bella.**

 **See ya'll next chapter.**


End file.
